Forgotten Highways
by P.A.W.07
Summary: Chick, forced to play the underdog this season, finds his plagued past returning. Soon, everything is falling apart. So when McQueen challenges him to race, wanting to keep his pride, he accepts. Problem is Chick is still trying to figure out if the race was in his favor or not. No pairings. Set after the first movie.
1. It Begins

Forgotten Highways: It was by chance that Chick and Lightning ran into each other, and it wasn't on the racetrack. Didn't mean they couldn't race. Problem is, Chick is still trying to figure out if the race was in his favor or not. No pairings.

Rating: Teen

Disclaimer: If only, if only, the plot bunny sings.

…

I dare 'est say,

On the highway,

I cannot recall a thing.

Will things change,

For grandeur or pain,

Only Fate knows that game.

…

Fear comes in all shapes and sizes. It can come in the form of a monster in the closet, or perhaps, something more common like the thought of death with its ever twisting grasp. Yet, there are rarer types of fears in the world, some so well hidden and buried that the holder of these fears barely even notices that it is resting in the bottom of their soul. So, before some even realize it, they are running, racing, and breaking tires in order to try and get away from it.

That was why Chick Hicks raced. He knew he was running from a monster in his own personal mind. It was an all consuming fear, and the only way to keep it at arm's length was to run that track so hard all he could hear were his tires beating against the pavement. He could no longer hear the whispers of his inner indiscretions then, about his loss, his loneliness, his emptiness, and his failures. None of those things existed on the track, just his freedom, and he'd pull every dirty trick in the book to keep it … even pretend to be something he was not.

That was why he was currently staying towards the end of the pack, his pump jumping in his chassis. It wasn't that he was exhausted with nearly three-hundred laps passed and gone, but because he felt sick to his tank. He was in thirteenth place. Not because it had been a particularly hard race or even challenging, but because he wanted to keep his sponsors.

_Lance - a white Viper with yellow stripes - sighed, his grill pulling down into a frown as he watched the race on the news once again. Chick merely stood at attention, not looking at the screen. He knew what was coming, he had pulled dirty tricks plenty of times before, but pulling one on the King was like a social death sentence. He'd never admit it out loud, but he hadn't meant to push the old car so hard. He just wanted to slow him down so he could, for once, not be in Strip Weather's shadow._

_The strange thing was … the one time he did manage to win, he was now nearly drowned in the King's shadow. It was enough to make cruel thoughts cross his mind, something involving and forklift and a rather deep pit._

_Lance sighed, clicking off the television, before stating, "Do you know our stock went down after that little stunt? Let's just say some of our customers considered the move to be in … bad taste."_

_Chick swallowed. The stock market wasn't his thing, but it was his sponsor's thing. So he did the only thing he could think of, apologize. Apologizing wasn't in his nature, too much pride, but after that last race he knew it would be hard to get another decent sponsor. _

"_Sorry, Lance. I've pulled that trick dozens of times, viewers like a little mayhem. I didn't think that it would –"_

_Lance made a rather threatening glare, shutting the racer up. "That's exactly it. You didn't think. Well, its time you did some thinking. Do you want to lose your sponsor and job or do you want to follow what I say down to a 'T'?"_

_Chick bit his tongue, his pride swelling with the need to revolt, he merely nodded._

"_Good. Now, I like you Chick, I will admit you have the mind of a business man, you play dirty when you must. So I'm going to give you a second chance in respect to that and your brother," Chick tightened at the mention of his sibling, but said nothing, "so here's the deal … you will lose."_

_A surprised noise escaped the green car before he blinked a few times and asked in disbelief, "W-what?"_

"_You heard me. This next season, and maybe even the one after that, you are to remain out of the spotlight, give the fans time to cool down, "said Lance a grin slowly erupting on his face. "Besides, the crowd loves the underdog."_

_The racer just stared at him, a hurt and horrified expression covering his face, a choking feeling rising in his throat._

_Lance sighed, his grin disappearing. He was not a heartless car, a bit power hungry, but not heartless. Chick was a good racer. No Lightening McQueen, by any stretch of the imagination, but he always remained in the top runnings. Slowly, Lance came from behind his desk and gave Chick a gentle nudge._

"_Come now. There comes a time when everyone has to play a part. Now is yours. Just pretend to be a good boy, not too much cheating and don't you dare get anything higher then tenth, you hear me. Just get enough points to get yourself into the top thirty-five so you can get into a fair amount of races. Think of this as a short vacation, alright."_

"And McQueen wins! Look at that. He just barely won by the tip of his tongue, literally. Sorry Junior, maybe the next race will be in your favor," came an excited voice over the intercom, Chick almost physically wilted on the track, his speed dropping and two more cars passing, both giving him strange looks as they did so. He was aware of the other racers' strange glances of late. It was as if he was dead on the track. He was sure that many of the rookies were just stocking it up to old age and that it was now their time to shine.

The older cars knew better, though. He still had a few good years left in him, and he was by no means the oldest car on the track. He'd rather take the rookies' mocking glances when they passed him over the older cars. That was why, when he entered the pits when the race over, he would move faster than he did during the whole race, giving his crew a forlorn look – which was the closest thing he could say to sorry – before rushing over to his driver, Ken. He was gone before the crowd could even stop cheering.

Today was no different. The disgrace was so deeply rung, his pride so shredded, that he actually snuck around other racer's tents to ignore being seen. It was easy to say that part of him was wondering if it was even worth it. He knew he was getting depressed with his constant, not to mention, planned losses that he couldn't even bring himself to talk about his job. Crank-shaft, he could barely whisper to his crew-chief that there would be no wins this season. Marv, his crew chief, merely nodded know this game of the job and asked nothing more. Ken had been harder. The guy was soft-hearted for one so large that Chick wondered if he had cried over the news. Good guy, a little soft around the edges; heck, Ken couldn't even pretend to put on a competitive attitude when confronted with other drivers for rival teams.

… Which was why he wasn't half way across the state at the moment.

"So, the next thing I know there's this little Honda chasing after me, yellin' I side-swiped him, and I needed to pay his body bills," said a red semi, the Rusties logo on him.

Ken, a Kensworth semi with an almost identical paint job to Chick, looked at the other semi in surprise while the other trucks all laughed. "Did you?"

Mack grinned, stating, "I told him that I didn't hit him. The little guy just continued to fight with me on the side of the road though. Luckily, McQueen is an impatient fellow sometimes and came out. The Honda nearly had engine failure right there and said he would forget the whole thing if he could take a picture with McQueen. You should have seen it … McQueen was giving me death glares the whole time as the Honda made him take about a dozen pictures."

The other trucks laughed, some slamming their tires against the pavement in utter amusement. Ken, his eyes still wide, the humor lost to him, asked, "But did you hit him?"

Mack's smile faded for a minute, but he slowly moved his tire, telling the others to move in closer as if telling a secret. He wasn't very soft-voiced though, "When I got to the next truck stop, I saw some blue paint on the trailer and scrapped it off … the Honda was blue by the way."

All the semis pulled away, laughing themselves silly. Ken's eyes were merely wide, but a silly grin covered his lips soon enough. It wasn't that he was slow, but people would probably say he was a bit naive. That was why Chick Hicks liked him, personally. The guy didn't judge, he just accept people as they were; if you weren't his type of character he just stray from a personal relationship. The racer still didn't understand why the guy liked him … or when any of his crew liked him. Perhaps they knew something that even Chick didn't know about himself.

Not that the speedster wanted to dwell on that. He had better things to worry about … like getting Ken's attention.

"Ken, Ken … hey, Ken," whispered Chick, his teeth bared themselves in an angry manner, but he dared not pull himself out of the shadow of the nearby tent. Chrysler, he felt as if he was hiding from his father again. Now why did he have to bring that up? Chick rolled his eyes and hissed at Ken again. The trucker was still oblivious to him. Sighing, Chick decided to chance it and started to crawl out to shadows, only to squeak and jump back into his hiding spot.

Tex came into the sight; all the truckers quickly nodded and said warm hellos to the host of Dinoco. Chick merely cursed his luck and drove deeper into the shadows of the tent, praying that the old car was merely coming to thank all the vehicles for their hard work and diligence or something.

"Just wanted to drop by guys and say thanks for a good job. All the racers got here on time and the fans had a good time. So, during the racer's party which is at five – remind your racers - there will be Dinoco on the house for you guys on a job well done," said Tex with his classic warm grin which made it look like he had a double grin with the horn upon his hood.

"Awesome,"

"Thanks Tex, sir,"

"That's great,"

And a collection of other types of thanks fell upon the audios of the older car, who merely nodded to each truck as they departed towards their tents. Chick silently groaned though when the wise old car suddenly put out a tire, stalling Chick's driver. Ford-Almighty! Why. Why!

"Hello son, are you Chick Hicks driver?" said Tex, that same soft smile on his face.

Ken blinked for a second before he beamed, "Sure am! I got him here early too. First to come, first to leave, like they say."

"I think its first to come, last to leave," stated the older being as his grin grew; Ken's hood blushed with embarrassment. "No matter, I have a better question for you."

Ken shook his hood and then stated meekly, "S-sure Mr. Tex."

The soft smile he had been carrying dropped slightly as he spoke in low tones so the departing truckers wouldn't overhear, "How is Chick doing? He's seemed a bit down on the track, and he hasn't been to any of the after-race parties. He was never big for them but at least he use to make an appearance. So … Is he going to make this party? I'd like to talk to him."

The green truck seemed puzzled by the question, at least to an outside viewer. In truth, he was struggling with himself, wondering how much he should say. Chick talked in his sleep so he knew a few details that Chick hadn't told their crew-chief about. Things like his pride … Chick was almost too embarrassed to be seen on track or for that matter at a party.

"I-I don't know, sir. I'll tell him for yah though," said Ken.

"Good. I hope to see him later, enjoy the Dinoco," said the older car before he turned away, heading back to his tent.

Ken just sat there a moment, his tires wilting under him slightly. He hated to get the old car's hopes up like that. He really seemed to want to talk to Chick, but Ken knew Chick would never go … even if he tried to drag him. The truth was –

Clunk!

"Ouch!" hissed the semi as he was dragged him his thoughts, his eye squinting. H-had someone just thrown something at him? Ken couldn't help it, his usual calm demur drowned as an angry snarl pulled at his lips, his form turning to see who had done the deed. His anger faltered as he caught sight of a green form falling back behind a nearby tent. The semi sighed and with a roar of his engine made his way over to the tent. Turning the corner, he wasn't really surprised to see Chick there. He was surprised when the other got into his face.

"What did he say to you? What did he want? I know it wasn't to offer me the Dinoco deal. Spit it out," hissed Chicks.

Ken rolled his eyes, use to the car's recent pick-up of paranoia, "Calm down Chick. He was just asking if you were going to the after-party. He asked me to make sure you got there."

Chick's nervousness dripped away as he sighed and shook his frame, grumbling, "Oh, that's all. Well, I'm not going. Come on, let's get going."

The speedster turned around and started forward, only to stall when he realized a heavy engine wasn't following after. He turned just in time to see the other's face before he groaned and nearly yelled, "No! Not the puppy pout. Aren't you a little old for that?"

The lip just continued to wobble.

"Stop it. No. NO! I will not fall for that."

The wobbling just continued, Ken's green eyes getting a light sheen.

"Are you a child? Stop being so immature," grumbled the racer, not in the mood for this game as he turned around and started driving towards his trailer while still under the cover of the many tents.

The hauler shook his head and quickly followed after, lip pulling back in, "I'm not being immature. You are the one that's hiding behind tents and dodging into shadows as if you are being shot at."

"I have my reasons. Now get the trailer before someone sees – eek!"

Ken barely had time to think Chick's sound over when the car suddenly hid behind his hulking form. Ken might have taken time to be insulted if a familiar form didn't exit from the tent they had just been creeping past.

Doc's eyes widened as he came out of the back of the tent, his eyes roaming to a shell-stocked semi with a surprised glint. The glint quickly disappeared though and he quickly looked around for a moment before looking back up at the semi, a slight frown forming on his face.

"I'm sorry," said the Hudson as he pulled out of the tent completely, laughter echoing into the shadows before the tarp fell back down. "Didn't mean to surprise you … I just thought I heard someone out here I knew. I wanted to talk to him."

Ken swallowed, his tires threatening to knock, but he somehow managed to swallow his tongue and squeak, "N-no-nope. Just me. Just me all by myself … creeping behind the tents … by myself."

The Hudson nodded, though his eyes stated he was unconvinced. He drove forward as if looking the semi over for injuries, "You're Chick's driver, right?"

Ken was silent for a moment, weighting the pros and cons of saying yes to that question. He could say no, but a part of him just couldn't do it … besides, what did everyone want with Chick? During the beginning of the season nobody could care less about the racer, but now he was mister popularity … was Chick not telling him something. Ugh, he had to make up an answer really fast though; the Hornet was all but glaring at him now.

"Um … nuh-yes. Yes, I am," said the trucker, who almost yipped when the car hiding behind him kicked him near his tire.

Doc gave him a wondering look and then stated, "Well, good. I was thinking he had left, but if you are still here then there's no need to worry. He's coming to the party right?"

The truck wilted on his tires. What was with that question? Did it somehow hold the answer to the universe behind it? Chrysler. He was starting to agree with Chick, he just wanted to get out of here.

"Don't know Mr. Hudson Hornet, sir. He's around," said the semi, trying to remain curious and not snap with a characteristic he had picked up from Chick.

The blue car titled his hood slightly, frowning as he looked at the semi. Then he nodded, before turning back to the tent where he stalled, ready to open the tent and go back inside. Over his shoulder, he couldn't help but state, "Not scared of little old me, are you Chick? Hiding behind your semi like that. Hope to see you at the party. My rookie has gotten a little cocky without you around to put him into place."

Chick merely peaked from around Ken's grill and said nothing, his engine roaring as he sped away. The Hudson merely chuckled. Maybe Chick wasn't as depressed as everyone had rumored him to be if he could still have a fit.

…

Chick's engine roared as he came around the corner, he was barely a flash of green before he got to his trailer, the door coming down with a warm hum. He was in before the door was completely on the ground, and then it started to close. The trailer shook, not shortly after, as the semi took a hold of the trailer.

"Let's get going," said Chick.

The semi's engine rumbled, "Are you sure you don't want to go to the party? It isn't your birthday or something, is it? I mean everyone and their scooter is looking for you. You know some socializing might be good for you. Besides, the next race will be just as bad. Why don't you just go and figure out what everyone else wants," said the semi as he started to pull forward, the trailer shaking.

Hicks merely frowned, "No. I'd rather keep what's left of my pride. I don't need that McQueen brat rubbing my losses in my face. And also, once we get to the next town over, you're getting a different paint job. People keep finding me because of you."

XXX

Paw07: Poor, poor, Chick. He's just not taking this very well. Anyway, this is just a prequel. Nothing too complicated, but it is easy to say that this is a _Chick fic_… It's a pun! Anyway, drop me a review if you want me to continue or not. Constructive criticism is always welcome … a beta would be as well. XP


	2. Racetrack Rumbles

Thanks to my beta DocandLightning.

Chapter 2: Racetrack Rumbles

Sheriff yawned, sinking a little lower on his tires, enjoying the warm air and sweet shade offered by his favorite hideaway behind his favorite sign outside of town. It had been a bit slow for the past few weeks. Doc and McQueen figured that the business would pick up once again when it grew near the end of the season. For now … he was just going to enjoy the silence. Ah yes, nothing like the …

"Hey Sheriff!"

The old car jumped out of his frame nearly as he turned just in time to see a glint of red. Lightning merely grinned at the older car, pulling up from the desert sand next to him. It was times like this that Sheriff hated himself for punishing the racer for speeding by making him go to Sarge's boot camp. The old Willie's jeep gave McQueen too many new escape routes with his off-road training … or in this instance, ambush techniques.

"Gag nabbit, kid! Don't go sneaking up on old cars like that. I nearly had engine failure," said the law enforcer as his lights flashed for a moment.

"Sorry," snickered the dust-covered youth. "Just checking up on you."

"Oh, is that all. Well, I'm fine. Now leave," said the Sheriff, knowing all too well why the rookie was here … Doc was checking up on him. He had been on the lift about four times in the last month, and Doc pretty much had everyone in town looking after him as if he were an old car with one tire in the pit and three flats. He was fine! Why couldn't anyone get that! Yet, as the minutes dragged off into an hour, the Sheriff's patience disappeared and he sighed. It was times like these that he wondered if it would have been best if the kid had left and never came back.

"Tell that old harpy that I'm not coming in for a check-up until my shifts over. My repairs are fine and even if they weren't I think I can wait the three days till he comes back from the race," growled the enforcer."

McQueen nodded his head … but continued to sit there.

"Didn't you hear what I just said?" said the old guard dog as he lifted a tire and pointed at the youth.

"Sure did … but Doc said I couldn't leave without you in personal body or a promise of your coming and since you have, in fact, not said nor appealed any want or immediate need to remove yourself from your present residence that you have, for the time being, been guarding with hopeless insistence … I cannot hope to evict myself from your personal being or leave until you have readied to do otherwise," said the smart ass, a grin coming to his lips.

"Smart aft," grumbled the officer. "So I take it Doc said you couldn't come back until you either dragged me or made me promise to leave my post early?"

"That would be it, Watson," said the younger car, the grin still on his face. He'd never admit it, but there was nothing better than tractor tipping with Mater and taunting the Sheriff.

A grumbled escaped the older car, "Why can't he just let me be! I keep telling him I'm fine."

"Tuh," McQueen made a disbelieving noise. "Please, this is Doc we are talking about. He never gives up on anybody, no one in town does. Heck, you guys never gave up on me. So, let's say you'll come in for a quick check-up around six? And you'll even go to the race with us tomorrow so Doc can keep an eye on you, yes? Or do I have to sit out here and sing Johnny Car songs?"

Sheriff was silent, a deep frown on his face as he glared at the youth. It was times like this he wondered why everyone tried so hard to keep the kid around. Perhaps, it was time he asked, "You know McQueen, I always wanted to know … why did you stay, kid? Just to torture me?"

McQueen's eyes quickly met his and after a moment of silence, he rubbed his bumper against the other car in an affectionate manner. The younger car said, "I found a family, I suppose, and not having one for so long … how could I say goodbye?"

Despite the gruff attitude he always tried to put forward, he liked the kid and hearing such a thing made his heart ooze … and a part of him wanted to cry.

"Are you crying," said McQueen as he drew closer, trying to see the older car's wind shield.

The peace-keeper merely pulled away, hiding his face as he grumbled, "Well, don't hang around here badgering me, boy. Get back to town and get some sleep. You have a race tomorrow."

Lightning merely laughed, nudging the old car, "I'll go … just as soon as you tell me if you were going to be coming to this one. I have a feeling something interesting will be happening tomorrow, and," said the youth as he started to talk in a child-like voice, "wouldn't the other kids think it strange if mommy always came to the races but you never did, dad?"

Lightning then jumped away, laughing in a mocking manner, keeping just out of reaching range from the grumpy old car.

"Besides," continued the youth. "Doc may lay off on the check-up if you promise to go."

The Sheriff stared for a moment with wide eyes and then grumbled, knowing that the youth had him in a tight corner, "Alright you road runner, I'm go to the dang race tomorrow, just don't let Doc hear you call him mum or you might never move again. You know he hates that joke."

"Alright, just be there. I just have a feeling tomorrow is going to be an exciting race," said the youth as he turned back onto the highway instead of sneaking back through the desert. Mark just shook his head. He had that feeling too … but he wasn't sure if it was of the good kind.

…

He could only remember the dirt when he thought of home … not that he thought of home very often. It was a taboo thing of sorts. The dirt, where Chick came from, seemed to get into cars hearts and not just their tires, and they never found themselves leaving. That was how Chick's father was. He was a car of the earth, lost in its sweet decadence. His mother was that way too; she'd just drive on the nearby gravel roads, listing to the almost rhythmic crunch of small rock beneath her tires. For a while, his older brother seemed that way too, only he liked to throw the dirt up into the air as if it were a brown cloud meant to chase after him.

Later, Chick found out it wasn't the dirt his older brother had loved … it was the speed.

"_Come on Chase, you need to slide when you make that turn. Remember, most cars don't even know what gravel feels like and don't know the tricks that come with being raised on it!" cheered Manton Hicks as he yelled on the sidelines, the gravel of the dirt track cheering underneath a pair of screaming tires. Chick, still young and small, peered at his brother from a distance. He was supposed to be with his mom right now helping her milk their pet tractor, John, but he wanted to watch his brother race. _

_Yes, racing. It all started a few weeks earlier when they had __a__ guest out at the farm. Chick had been so excited that he had practically danced around the older car's form as he made his way up the long dirt driveway. Strangely, the older car wasn't upset with him like the mail-truck always was when he did that. He, in fact, stopped halfway up the driveway and patted the small racer on the hood lightly. _

"_Are you Chase's little brother? He speaks of you from time to time," said the cherry red '55 Cadillac with a soft grin, his old voice grinding but not unpleasant. _

"_Yes!" beamed the young car as he hopped on his tires, "My name__'__s Chick, Chick Hicks! How do yah know my brother?"_

"_Well, he now races for me. I'm his sponsor. Do you know of Carson-Cola Oils. I'm Henry Carson," said the stranger._

_Chick blinked. He knew his brother raced, but what was a sponsor? Most of the races in the area were local with small prizes. He wasn't sure what a sponsor was. "Is that a bad thing?"_

_The older car laughed out loud, his engine coughing with the same humor, making the young car blush. Henry didn't let Chick drive away in embarrassment though and put a tire out to stop any retreat, "Sorry lad, it's just that everyone always seems to know my face or product. It's kind of refreshing to run into someone who doesn't. So tell me … are you going to be just as fast as your brother when you get older?"_

_Chick blinked, his young mind still not getting it, "What do you mean?"_

_He laughed before stating, "A racer, son. Are you going to be a racer?"_

_Chick wasn't sure why he had said it, but a silly grin rose to his face, his first dream installing itself on him, "Yah, I'm going to be just as fast as my brother."_

"_Good. Now keep that promise, and you'll make your daddy and brother proud. Now … you want some cola? Your brother keeps saying its making him fat, but he'll be getting it free for life. It's best not to waste it."_

_The child laughed but nodded as he headed down the rest of the way towards the house. The dirt seemed to try to cling to his tires but for some reason it kept falling to the ground. No longer could it snatch him or keep him._

"Wake up!"

Chick's eyes snapped open and couldn't help but cry out as he slammed into the back of his trailer, his eyes wide and engine panting. It took him a minute to finally get some focus and he frowned as Marv, a pick-up with a matching paint job which happened to be his crew-chief, grinned at him from his ramp near the back of the trailer.

"Wh-what are you … who are … uh, Marv? Why are you in my trailer?" said Chick in a half dazed, his face full of confusion.

Marv grinned devilishly and nudged the car with his tire in a mocking gesture, before stating, "Well, at first I thought you were merely hiding in here because you didn't want any

confrontation like at the last race, but then I noticed you were still asleep and wouldn't wake up. So I repeatedly poked you with my antenna like you were a dead animal until you woke you up… Must have been having a rather happy dream there, Chick. So tell me … what model was she?"

Chick blinked once or twice before stating, "W-what?"

Marv shook his head and looked back down at the rest of the crew who were all waiting patiently on the pavement outside, "Poor Chick. He's all upset because we interrupted his happy dream.

Well don't worry too much, Chrysler ... you get to look at afts all day today. After all, you will not be in first. You know … you being shy this season and all."

Chick's eyes got wide and if he were a few years younger he might have blushed, but he was use to Marv's … suicidal … sense of humor that he shouldn't have been surprised. Didn't mean he was going to let the other vehicle get away with it, but it was a nice distraction … he'd admit it. It was nice not to remember, so there was nothing like a little death threat to chase away old wounds.

"Why you … get over here!" snarled Chick, feeling a grin rise on his face despite the obvious insult. He would never admit it, but his crew was like his family; heck, they were even torturous like one.

Marv laughed evilly in his throat and jumped out of the back of the trailer, his truck bed bouncing at the impact. Didn't slow him down though as he rushed over to the pits. The race was about to start in twenty minutes and most of the other crews already had their racers primed and ready to go. Marv only offered a slightly impish grin to the orange crew-chief next to his pit, before he plowed up to the ramp that was to be his viewer's point for the rest of the race as he called out recommendation for Chick. The roar of a heavy, and not to mention irritated, engine followed after.

Looking around the pits, Chick shook his hood knowing that the whole comment had been thrown at him with the idea of getting him the pit a little earlier than usual. He'd usually have his tires and engine checked in his sponsor's tent, sparing him the look of the other racers, but it seemed he wouldn't be getting his way today. After all, Marv – despite how immature he could be – was his crew chief, and it was in his best interest to listen to him. He didn't even spare the orange racer, next to him, a glance as he got into his space and popped his hood, the rest of his crew swarming around him like an ant hive. The younger orange racer looked down, blushing.

'Rookie,' was all Chick could think as his team prepared him. One could always tell a rookie was on the track when they'd blush over such a simple thing. After all, it was a common occurrence; the rookie better get use to it or get off the track. Chick would prefer off the track, but no one could ever tell with rookies since so many came and went so easily.

"All's good under the hood," said one of the older fork-lifts as he slammed the hood shut.

"So are the tires. A little dirty though … you been racing in the dirt, Chick?" said another member of his team, Arty.

"No," said Chick softly as they all pulled back into their appropriate spots, "but I've been dreaming of it."

Marv gave him and funny look, putting on his head-set, but before he could ask what the racer meant the intercom cried out, "Good morning racers and racing fans. It's a lovely eight-five degrees today. A little nippy, but I'm sure our engines will all be a-fire soon enough! Today we have –"

The rest of the introduction was lost to Chick as he stared at the pit exit. He hadn't thought about his childhood or his brother in a long time … he didn't want to remember it, and he didn't have to. Not when he had the track.

…

Marv tried not to yawn. It had been a slow race. No, it wasn't because Chick was in his usual tenth-ish place, but because it was still. Everyone had been playing safe-driver today and little to no action was taking place. There hadn't even been one tire blowout, which was strange. What the hell was going on … was Chick's depression contagious?

Yes, he had noticed. Marv might have had a playful attitude, but he was no fool on any account. He saw things. It was his job after all to observe. He saw that Chick was more than acting now. He seemed distant, paranoid, tired, and unhappy. Well, Chick was not the type to go around with a grin on his face, but he sure did love to laugh … usually at the expense of younger racers, but he did have a sense of humor. He hadn't really laughed much in the past few weeks.

Well, Marv had decided to use his powers of evil for good … just once. It was bad for a racer to get depressed. If a racer got depressed he would get sloppy on the track … and if he got too messy, he might get himself and someone else killed out there. He had seen it happen before. There was a racer by the name of Slick Hemming. He was cocky, arrogant, and - he might be a guy, but he'd admit it - elegant. The guy was a Hemi, and he made his chassis shine like his yellow paint made the sun shine itself. Slick lost his daughter, a sweet little thing, and drew away from his family thinking he could just drive off his grief … yah; he drove off his grief alright, right into a wall. It had been a mess. He had hit so hard part of his engine went flying into the track like some kind of gruesome war zone, oil splattered everywhere. A few people crashed … and some of the rookies never came back after that race, traumatized by the sight of someone's inners scattered across the track.

Chick wasn't going to be some headline followed by a close-hearted ceremony, fake tears all around. No. He would not be another thrill for fans as they watched his innards being scrapped off the track. Speaking of which … Chick was getting a little close to the wall especially when he was starting to get box in by the other racers.

"Chick?" said Marv over his headset, his gaze still lazy. "You're getting a little close to that wall, draw back and let Better Buy pass you."

There was silence on the other line … and Chick didn't seem to listen, not drawing away from the wall.

"Come on Chick, it's a slow race. You can get your place back, no prob. Now get away from that wall!" all but yelled Marv into his headset, the orange crew chief next to him giving him a strange look. Marv merely nodded at the other and grumbled into his headset, "Oh come on, Chick. You still pissed about that joke I made before you went on the track?"

There was silence on the other line.

"Okay, I'm sorry. Now get … away … from … that … wall," growled the crew-chief, now trying to ignore worried looks from his crew which was now looking up at him, and the crew chiefs on either side. Chick was just trying to embarrass him, wasn't he?

Yet, the closer Chick drew to the wall, the more unlikely that seemed. Marv was starting to worry, memories of Slick Hemming's death reflecting in the back of his mind.

"Chick. If this is a game, stop. Chick … Chick are you listening!?"

"_Listen," said Chase as he looked down at his little brother, the light of a setting day reflecting off the lake before them._

"_Listen to what, brother?" said Chick as the slightly younger car looked up at his elder, Chase. _

_Chase had a lazy look in his blue eyes and the black car with his red accents seemed … at peace. _

_Chick looked back out at the waters, watching his floater bob back and forth on the lake's surface. His brother had come home, tired but happy. He was never home anymore than a few days at a time. Chick missed him, even though he had all the Carson Cola he could ever hope to consume. He missed his brother. At first he was a little glad his older brother was going to be gone since it would give him more time to be with his father. Dad didn't give him more attention though; Chick was as invisible as he had been when he was born. Father believed the oldest son was the most important son, he was the backup son. True, his father never said that … but Chick knew it was true. Chase carried the family name … he was just carried._

"_Listen … they're your fans … they are cheering for you," said Chase, a grin on his face, his eyes half mast and relaxed._

_Chick blinked, a frown forming, "What do you mean?"_

_Chase nudged his little brother, his silly grin still on his face, "I know you are upset, Chick. I wanted to sleep in before the next race, but mom wanted me to come down and talk to you."_

_The youth frowned, shaking his head, "I'm not mad! Okay! Why should I be!"_

_The elder brother sighed, putting out a tire before his sibling could run away in a huff. Chick struggled against the older sibling's tire for a while before he finally gave __in__, a whine escaping him as he turned around and stared at the water. He pretended that the older and larger car __weren't__ there, his attention fixed on his fishing pole and the bobber in the water. He couldn't ignore the kind tire petting down his back window and towards his trunk though. _

"_Come on, Chick. I know when something's wrong. I'm your older brother, you can tell me anything," said Chase as he continued to run a soothing tire down his brother's back, trying to get some attention out of his brother. Finally a small sniffle escaped the younger car, and Chase pulled forward so he could see the other's face._

"_You sure nothing's wrong?" said the eldest, his bumper nudging the other as if he were more a parent than a brother._

_After a minute of silence, Chick finally choked, "Things aren't better."_

"_Better? Things aren't better how," said Chase, a frown forming on his face. He had a feeling he knew where this was going._

"_I thought dad would love me more, but he doesn't!" all but screamed the young would-be-racer as he suddenly lunged to the side, his tire wrapping around his brother's tire as he suddenly started sniffling in the black car's side panel. "It's like I don't exist now that you're gone. He doesn't even want me here! "_

_Chase sighed. So that was what this was about. Dad had been at his side an awful lot, but he didn't think he stole dad from his little brother completely. Chase didn't understand it, not one bit. Dad dragged him everywhere when he was a child, but he didn't __for__ Chick. He had a small feeling it had to do with dad's own resentment to his younger brother, but why would he take that out on Chick … no, there had to be another reason. Dad was probably just excited about his new career as a racer. Yes, that had to be it._

"_Now, Chick. Dad doesn't hate you. He loves you … he's just distracted. He'll stop checking up on my training, and he'll be home more often. Then you'll have more of him than you'll need," said Chase warmly, hugging his brother back._

_Chick sniffled, "You sure? Dad always loved you more. I just want to race too Chase, but dad won't even take me out. H-h-he said I would never be a racer! T-that it was a silly dream!"_

_A smile fell away from Chase's face, knowing all too well about his little brother's new dream but not what his father had said about it. Dad had been rather supportive of him, but not Chick? Well, he'd cheer his little bro on. If it was the last thing he did, "Now don't give up, Chick. You'll disappoint all your fans." _

"_Fans?" said Chick, tears streaming down his hood as he looked up at his brother._

"_Yeah," said the Cutlass Oldsmobile with a soft snicker. "Can't you hear them? They're cheering just for you."_

_Chick perked up and listened to the stillness, "I only hear crickets, Chase?"_

"_Exactly, they're all cheering for you and even if dad isn't at the track to cheer you on, they sure will … and so will I. And Chick," said Chase as he watched the bobble fall beneath the water._

"_Yeah?"_

"_I think you're …"_

"… going to hit the wall! Chick! Chick! What the hell are you doing!? You're gonna hit the wall! Chick!" cried Marv over the headphone, his voice full of panic.

Chick came out of the memory in a stupor, disorientated and unsure of where he was. It had seemed so real. He could hear the crickets nearby, felt that dry breeze, and even smelled his brother. He had forgotten that smell for the longest time. It was a musky smell of slightly melted rubber and wet dirt, but that smell wasn't here. He smelled asphalt, spilled oil, hot engines, and melting tires. His eyes widened when he realized there was no lake or field, only hot asphalt, zooming bodies, and a closing-in wall.

Chick choked, his vents catching, and the next thing he knew he was turning down. Too bad he hadn't looked before he leapt. He was surrounded in a pack of other race cars; some so close they barely had a foot on either side of them. Not that Chick had noticed this; he just knew he was going to hit that wall if he didn't move. The Better Buy car noticed. Of course, he barely had time to yelp before he dodged a crash with Chick. Unfortunately, the Shiny Sheen car didn't notice Better Buy's move, and the next thing everyone knew the scream of tires echoed over the track. The sound of crunching metal followed a dry scream, and the next thing Chick knew the two cars were thrown into a wild spin.

There wasn't even time for the green racer to think of what he had initially caused when it came back into his face, the Shiny Sheen car forcing Better Buy back up into Chick's front fender. A pained grunt escaped him as he ground his teeth, pain lacing up his form, but he struggled to keep some control though because he knew he would go into the wall if he gave into the agony in his body. Not that it mattered, it seemed some poor fool tried to turn and miss hitting into Shiny Sheen by speeding up and … slamming into him from behind.

The crowd gasped, the crew-chiefs all cried out, the ambulance lights shimmered into being, and the announcers went crazy.

"Oh my Chrysler! Bob, did you see that? Someone, I can't tell who, just pulled a rookie mistake, and the rest of the track is paying for it. Number 45, 23, 98, 91, 86, 39, and 55 have been caught in the pile up and that pile just keeps going. No, no, McQueen! Don't … ooooooh! That had to hurt."

This, of course, went unheard by Chick's audios. He had been taken by darkness when he had been slammed into by a third car, but now he was slowly coming around, everything aching. With a groan, he slowly opened his eyes. For a minute everything was blurry, and all he could do was blink. W-what happened? Was he dead? A whimpering sound met his audios, and Chick struggled to look at it. It was just an orange blur at first, but then his vision started to come around, and Chick was a bit surprised to see another pair of eyes staring at him.

"H-h-h-h C-chick … right?" said the orange car with Demmy's Dukes, a paint company, on his hood. Well, at least that's what Chick thought it was supposed to say … the car was upside down.

The green car blinked and the murmured, "Yah … what happened … you are the car that was down in the pits next to my station?"

Demmy's Dukes grinned and stated, "Y-yah. That was me. We were in an accident … in fact, half the track was in an accident. They still haven't gotten to us."

Chick blinked, his mind still fuzzy. He hurt all over, yet here he was dented and broken but still having a slightly awkward conversation with a rookie. If he wasn't all fuzzy and in agony the racer might have laughed. It kind of reminded him of his younger days when he would get injured and talk with the other mangled cars down by the tents after they had been dragged off the track.

The orange car laughed nervously, his tires wiggling up into the air. He seemed fine except for a cracked windshield, a dented fender, and the fact that he was on his roof. Then, looking back at Chick he stated nervously, "This is my first crash. I-I kind of felt embarrassed at first, but as I came to a sl-sliding halt in front of you, I didn't feel as bad. I mean, if a more experienced racer like you can get caught in this than I really shouldn't feel too bad."

Yeah, experienced racer, being caught in a rookie mistake. That was something to certainly be proud of. Despite that, Chick felt a grin raise to his face, a grin his mom use to say belonged to his brother and said, "Yeah, rookie. Don't feel too bad. The really bad part comes when your crew chief starts to yell at you for being an idiot and then the repairs."

The orange racer laughed slightly, "I'll remember that. By the way … my names Danny Dunes. Nice to meet you, Chick. I always heard you were a bit of a jerk and to stay away from you on the track, b-b-but you seem okay. I mean, not to say that you weren't or that I uh … well, I mean no offense, but I've heard …"

Chick laughed dryly. He didn't know why he did, maybe because it was that the kid had guts to come out and say such a thing or because it was nice to know his reputation wasn't completely dead. It was kind of crude to admit, but sometimes he knocked an extra car or two out of the race merely for his reputation. During the beginning of his career he learned the hard way: if people aren't afraid of you they won't respect you. His father was at least able to teach him that much.

"Well, it's true. Don't go ruining my reputation," said Chick as he tried to see if he could at least limp back to the pits, choking on a wave of pain was he tried to move his tires. Nope, he was bent out of shape, and it was going to hurt like hell even when they started dragging him. Ugh, he didn't know if he should start gritting his teeth now or later. "Damn."

"Yah, I don't think you're going to be able to limp away," said the rookie, not even fazed by the dry comment. "I mean, from this viewpoint, it doesn't seem like a good idea."

Despite himself, Chick snorted at the joke and quickly regretted it when he looked at the rookie's grin. Little rat, he had played right into that.

"Now really isn't the time to be joking, is it?" said Chick, struggling to hide his grin.

"Why not … we're just hanging around," said the youth, laughing.

Chick rolled his eyes, hating the youth for making him smile, yet before he could even open his mouth there was a squeal of tires. He barely got to share a frightened look with the orange car before his hood was rained in glass … a blur of blue slamming into the rookie.

"Almighty Ford! Bob … did you see that. The Hubcap Sheen car thought he could pull a McQueen and get through and … and … oh, the poor rookie. It doesn't look good."

Chick could only continue to stare forward at the glass on his hood … and a tire that bounced downward into the grass. He couldn't bring himself to look over towards the direction where Danny Dunes laid broken and bleeding. He couldn't look because he knew the rookie was probably dead or dying with how fast that hit came … he couldn't look because he knew it was his fault. It was his entire fault … like the last time.

XXX

Paw07: First off, yah, I know there isn't much happening here, but I wanted to make sure to set up some angst and lots of foreshadowing to taunt everyone. Also, thanks for all the great reviews, and thanks to Fyrehawk for helping me pick out my Henry Carson, Manton Hicks, and Chase Hicks car models. And, don't worry, there will be OC's but only to help develop Chick and his past. Also … oh I wonder, I wonder … just what happened to McQueen in this chapter?


	3. Confrontations

Hugs for my beta, LightningandDoc, for catching my lovely, little, errors. I know faults make people beautiful, but not stories. ^ . ~

Chapter 3: Confrontations

Once again, strangely, Ken found himself within the crowd of ten or eleven trucks. They were all laughing and sharing stories as if it this were any other truck stop and that they were not, in fact, on opposite teams. Generally, they wouldn't hang out like this until the race was over and tempers had been and went. But today's race was slow, crawling to a stop kind of slow. Not that Ken much minded … it was probably best for Chick right now. The racer had been under a lot of stress, and a slow race would probably be good for him. No stress or worry, just the track's cool concrete.

"Hey Mack," said the Tire Treds truck as he bumped the other truck. "Come on. Tell us a story, something humiliating. We love hearing how you continually get out of trouble using McQueen's fame."

The red truck laughed, and Ken eyed the other. It always made him wonder about why McQueen kept the truck driver. He had this thing about attracting bad luck. Ken had even heard the story about how Mack had lost his racer last season. Talk about bad luck … or good. He hadn't paid much attention to the rookie last season, being that rookies come and go like seasons, but the kid seemed happy. He wished he could see Chick that happy. Maybe he should lose him by 'accident' near some hick town on a forgotten highway. Heck, it at least would save the other's pride about having to lose the next race.

Then again, thinking of Chick being that happy made him cringe. The only time Chick was really happy was when he was on the track or laughing at somebody else's mistakes.

"Tell me if you guys have heard this one," said Mack, a vicious grin on his face. "Anyway, I was tired so I pull into this truck stop in Iowa. I've been there dozens of times, small, safe, and uneventful. Or at least I thought it was. Anyway, the next thing I knew I was suddenly jarred awake as someone started knocking on my cab. I peek open my eyes and I see this hot little ride. She was real pretty, and the first thing that came to my mind was … lot lizard."

All the other truck's whistled and hooted while the younger trucks all blushed. Ken was one of the blushers … this was going to be one of those type of stories, wasn't it? It was not uncommon for stories like these to be passed between trucker buddies on cold nights to help keep them warm with some good laughs … but in the middle of a race?

"Anyway," continued Mack, well aware of the estranged looks he was getting from the younger trucks and the few security SUV's in the area. "I was still half asleep when I said, 'No thanks, miss. I don't want any company tonight.' That was fine and dandy except for the fact that she was a cop! Yah, it was so dark I didn't see her paint job, but apparently, there were some robbed trailers in the area and she wanted to know if I've seen anything."

Laughing echoed over the lot, mocking the trucker's bad luck until someone was finally able to choke out a reply, "A-and how d-did you g-get yourself out of t-that, Mack! I think she'd take offence."

"Sure was offended," said Mack with a bit too much pride, "but it turns out she had a crush on McQueen. She _hinted_ she'd take no offence if she could take him out for a drink … thing is … McQueen wasn't even old enough to drink high-grade so he had milk while she hit on him."

More laughter echoed over the expanse, some of the older trucks even choking because their poor engine couldn't take much more of this heavy laughter. Slowly, the laughter died down and Mack turned his attention to Ken and hit him with his tire in a friendly punch.

"How 'bout you Ken. You've been pulling Chick around for a while. Ever make any getaways with him … Chick takes me as the trouble making type," said Mack. It was hard not to notice a lack of the other driver after races. The last race was the exception. There had been a running joke that Chick had a gal and was running off to get him some. The racer's grumpy, distant, attitude said otherwise though.

"Well … there was this one time that I accidently took someone else's trailer and left Chick there. Then there was that one time I had to rescue him from this cat-lady, but the last few months have been rather silent," said the green semi, eyeing the other semis. The question game wasn't about to start was …

"So why didn't Chick make it to the last party, anyway?" said the Dinoco semi, Gray.

Ken sagged on his wheels. He should have known something was up just by the fact that the Dinoco truck was here. Generally, the driver would stick around his tent … and who could blame him with all those pretty little cars with the feathered hats? Figures someone would set up a trap. Why couldn't they set up Chick personally or Marv? But no, they had to get the nice guy from the team. Well, he wasn't about to fall for the trap. No … he was going to retreat.

"Uh … you'll have to ask him. Well, gotta go!"

Yet, before the truck could make a run for it, Gray grabbed him by the back of his tire and placed a canister of Dinoco before the green truck.

"Now don't go pulling a Chick Hicks impersonation on us, you haven't finished your oil yet," said Gray, a grin rising on his face. Why did his boss put him up to stuff like this? He felt kind of like a rat. Well, if Chick Hicks would just show up to one of the parties everyone would stop sneaking around behind the team's back.

Ken wanted to pout. Really he did, but he was amongst friends, and it had been weighing on his chest for a little while now … maybe he should confine in the older truckers. They might know a trick or two to cheering up his boss. Sighing and taking a quick sip, Ken sagged on his tires and stated in a sober tone, "None of you'll tell your racers, will you?"

The group of drivers all looked around at each other, some nodding, others shrugging, and soon he had everyone's attention.

"He hasn't been coming because I think … no, I know … he's too ashamed to come with all his constant losses and such," said the green semi, part of him knowing that he had just killed the warm attitude that had been in the air. Ken swallowed, before he said the next words; they were kind of taboo, but Marv hadn't done anything to make Chick feel better, maybe Ken could … with a little advice. "I-I think it's made him depressed too."

A collection of soft curses and worried words filled the small collection of truckers. Ken shrank back, now wondering if he had done the right thing. Like he said, the word was taboo when it was mentioned along with the name of a racer. In fact, sometimes racers were 'convinced' by the Racing Board to take the season off if they were even hinting at signs of depression. He hadn't just made things worse … had he?

Gray sighed as the other truckers started to talk, mention of the Racing Board coming into the conversation once or twice, before he butted in and stated in a soft voice, "Now, everyone calm down. Ken told us because he trusts us. Now don't be so quick to betray that."

The other semis all twitched on their tires, but none of them disagreed. Ken was a nice guy, and put out his trust easily, but was wary to ever offer it again if he was betrayed too badly. It was not wise to ruin friendships over what someone thought and what was indeed a fact. Besides, things like these should be handled … delicately.

"Now, Ken. I hope you are not using that word lightly; Chick may just be upset and is moping around because of it. All racers, especially ones that have been around for a while, feel inferior from time to time. Now, if you don't think it's just Chick creating drama I think you should tell your crew chief; he'll make the proper choices," said Gray wearily.

A soft sigh escaped the green truck as he looked around at the small support group; all of them were nodding and agreeing with the blue semi.

"Now, let's finish our oil, boys, and enjoy the slow pace. Okay, Peter, let's hear some tales from your side of the desert."

Ken's grin slowly grew and the laughs continued. He had been scared for a moment. He was worried that all hell was going to break loose, but it seems he was wrong. No, today was offering some calm. Today was going to be a good …

There was suddenly a scream of tires and a resounding crunch which quickly wiped away the grin on every truck's face there, their eyes all falling on him it seemed. For a moment, every truck was still even though the ambulances had raced past them. They were all waiting for the same thing: the announcers.

"Oh my Chrysler! Bob, did you see that? Someone, I can't tell who, just pulled a rookie mistake, and the rest of the track is paying for it. Number 45, 23, 98, 91, 86, 39, and 55 have been caught in the pile up and that pile just keeps going. No, no ..."

The rest of the words were lost to the green semi, the number eighty-six resonating in his head. He could merely swallowed in horror … the memory of Slick Hemming coming to mind. He swallowed hard, barely noting that Mack was racing past him along with a few of the other semis. He was stuck … until Gray finally gave him a push on the back of his tire, whispering, "Come on, kid. Everything is alright, probably just a few dents. Go to your racer."

Gray watched the rest of the group dispersed; the laughter now dead. He was at this instant worrying about Chick Hicks, because he never wanted to see another Hemmings splattered on the racetrack. He could only hope that it hadn't already happened. Either way, he should tell Tex immediately. He had merely promised to not tell his racer … which he didn't have one of at the moment.

…

"Oww! Ouch! Oh the pain! Make it stop! Ughhhhhhhhh!"

Sheriff and Doc looked at each other, and then at the whining youth that was raised on a ramp, dents and dings all over his body. Lightning had tried to pull a game of dodge-the-huge-pile-up-that-has-to-be-taking-up-at -least-a-quarter-of-the-track and look where it got him. Doc, as his crew chief, had told him to pit, forget about it, but no … McQueen thought he could pull off an amazing stunt, an amazingly dumb stunt.

"Should we tell him you're done with his immediate repairs?" said Sheriff, his eyes lazily looking at the youth as the racer continued to make pained noises and complain about the _agony_. Tuh, such a drama queen.

Doc sat there a moment, his backend low in a lazy manner as he seemed to think. Then, giving his companion a slightly wicked grin, he stated, "Let's leave him for a little bit longer. Maybe it will knock something into that thick head of his."

Despite himself, he couldn't help but grin back at Doc. Tuh, and the Hornet wondered where McQueen had picked up his slightly sinister side. All he had to do was look in the mirror.

"What should we do while we wait?" said Sheriff as they started to roll to the other side of the tent, away from the wailing youth.

"See what went wrong. That's what. I want to know why my rookie lost."

Soon Sheriff and Doc Hudson were at the other side of the tent, watching the feed of the race that had just taken place minutes ago. It was easy to say that the pile up had been a mess, and re-watching some of the gory details in slow motion would have made any other car ill. Mark was an officer, and Hudson was a doctor so such things were routine and part of the job requirement; they barely even batted an eye.

Stopping the tape before it got to the horrific collision with the Demmy Duke's diver, Hudson rewinded the tape and squinted his eyes as he put it in slow motion, pointing the crash out, "Look, there it is, right by the Shiny Sheen car. It looks like the Better Buy car … dodged Chick."

Sheriff drew back and huffed, "That scallywag! He knew he was going to lose the race and decided to pull a cheap move so he could get ahead."

The Hudson Hornet gave him a skeptical look and rewinded the tape again, pausing it. It didn't look like an accident and for some reason … the accident was reminding him of a rumor he had heard earlier, and he couldn't help but voice it aloud, "You know that rumor that's been going around, about Chick?"

"That he has a hot ride waiting for him at home, and thus is gone faster than the wind after every race?" said Sheriff, a grin rising to his face as he thought about how hot the pretty car had to be to get Chick to move that fast.

Doc gave him a bored expression, and then stated, "No … the one that he might be depressed."

The Sheriff's lazy grin turned to a sober expression. It was not only a taboo subject to racers, but one to officers alike. Depressed drivers were dangerous drivers. In fact, they were probably twice as dangerous as drunk drivers, because you could at least smell the alcohol on a drinker's breath. Mark twitched on his tires, and then bluntly replied, "Is it true?"

"I don't know, that's why it called a rumor," said Doc, watching Chick's expressions on the tape before his eyes suddenly widened and he swerved, "But … look at the reactions on his face. Chick wasn't all there during most of the race, his eye's misty looking until his form started getting closer and closer to the wall. He would have crashed and messed himself up if he hadn't swerved."

There was silence in the room, the two older beings dwelling on the subject at hand. Sheriff even watched the feed once more as if confirming Doc's theory, before he suddenly perked up on his tires. Doc looked over at him, wondering why the officer was suddenly checking his mirrors.

"Something wrong, Mark?" said Doc, his worry switching from the car in question to his town's cop. He had managed to blackmail the rookie into getting Sheriff to come to the race, because in truth, he was worried about his old friend. The peace keeper wasn't as young as he use to be, and was terrible when it came to asking for help with anything health related. The trouble was, with the increase of traffic in Radiator Springs, more stress was put on the aging enforcer. In truth, with the increase in visitors, they now had the money to hire a full time deputy but even with the small hints of hiring help, Mark would get upset, thinking the town's people wanted to replace him. Doc would never do that to such an old friend, but with the way the officer was treating his body … Doc might just be forced to do the very thing Mark was so afraid of.

"You notice anything strange, Doc?" said police officer suddenly.

"No," said Doc, blinking, his thoughts interrupted.

"Exactly … where is the whining?"

Doc's face grew into a frown, "He heard us … didn't he?"

Sheriff didn't answer, the two older vehicles merely turning around and heading to the back of the tent to see … Lightning trying to sneak out of the tent. Doc merely shook his hood and was about to make a comment about an early radiator flush if the racer didn't get back onto that ramp right now, but Mark beat him to the punch.

"And where do you think you're going, rookie. Last time I checked, you were in _agony,_ and Doc hasn't given you the okay to leave yet," said the Sheriff, not really in the mood for any of the kid's games.

Lightning did a hop kind of turn, a guilty grin now bared to the two older cars. The two cars in question exchanged curious looks to each other, and then they both gave the youngling a bored but demanding look. The youth shook his hood, a soft laugh on his lips, "Yah got me Sheriff. I'm up to no good."

"Now I don't need no trouble from you today, boy. Better spill what you're up too, or I'll have you in a boot so fast, your mother will feel it," said the officer, his form stiffening for a minute.

Lightning tried to look as innocent as possible. Then, driving backwards and slowly out of the tent, he spoke, "Oh nothing much … probably pose for some of the cameras, talk to Strip Weathers a little, and maybe mock Chick on his developing age and the senile properties that come with age … like the inability to drive. Ha. Ha. The Thunder is finally growing silent and soon there will be nothing but lightning in the sky! Oh yah!"

The younger car was then zipping away, leaving the two older cars slightly opened mouthed and gapping. Pulling their mouths closed, the two old companions shook their heads until Doc finally spoke, "We really got to do something about that kid's mean streak."

The Sheriff chuckled, "I agree there, Doc. Come on, maybe we can catch him somewhere between flirting with his fans and talking to Strip, but lets drive slowly … I still want to see Chick's face."

Doc hit the officer with his tire, a grin on his face, "Now Sheriff, I think Lightning's mean streak might be contagious."

…

Chick slowly opened his eyes; disorientated slightly from the pain killers he had been given. There was a stillness in the tent. The only sounds reaching his audios was the flapping of the tent against a faint breeze, and the constant drip of oil into a pan below him as the squeak of small tires of the forklifts drove around his form, mumbling to each other about parts and the extent of Chick's injuries. Chick paid it no mind, he couldn't stop playing Danny Dukes last expression over and over in his mind.

He wanted to ask what had happened to the rookie, but for some reason he couldn't find it in himself to even speak. It was as if his jaw had locked itself shut. He hadn't felt like this in a long time, so ashamed, that he was unable to speak. In fact, he hadn't felt this way since he had last spoken to his father. Chick quickly closed his eyes, willing away the thoughts and the direction they were going. He didn't need to think about that right now … he didn't really want to think about anything right now.

Not that Marv was going to leave him to the peace he so desperately craved. It seemed that the crew chief had just been waiting there in the corner of the tent fuming, waiting for the forklifts to finish up all the major work. Then, like a beast, he leapt from the shadows and attacked.

"What the hell were you thinking?" came the cold dragging words as Marv settled in Chick's line of sight, his gaze arctic and demanding.

Chick merely remained silent, knowing there was nothing he could say. These were his private demons anyway, not someone else's worries. Besides, he didn't know what to say. The 'D' word kept popping in his head, but he was nowhere near that desperate.

"Nothing to say, huh? Just what the hell was going on out there? What? Did you decide to take a nap while driving? I'm going to take you out for the next two races if you don't tell me what was going through your head, Chick, and tell me now," growled Marv, his usual cool composition lost to a sneer and rage, the forklifts all scattering when he slammed a tire down, nearly popping his own tire from the force.

Chick's eyes wandered. He wanted to snap back, and usually he would, but he felt so tired and broken … he knew not what else to do but answer, "I was thinking … about the dirt?"

Marv was silent for a second, before a growl escaped him, "What the Ford are you talking about, dirt?! Did you hit your head? What the Chrysler is going on with you, Chick? You nearly killed yourself today, not to mention about a third of the other racers. I need to know if I can trust you on the racetrack anymore. Hicks, you might kill someone … or yourself."

A whine caught in the green racer's engine. He was not suicidal! He was just lost at the moment, his mind unable to calm itself. And he had no intent, never did, to kill anyone. But … as he recalled the orange racer, a pathetic almost whining sound escaped him, and before Chick could stop himself, he whispered, "I don't know what happened, alright. It was a slow race, and my mind wandered … to some unpleasant memories. I wasn't trying to kill anyone … I-is he alive?"

Marv as slightly taken back by the desperation and nearly panicked pace Chick had suddenly taken. It wasn't like the proud racer to open up so easily … or so desperately. Moving forward a little bit, a still slightly confused look on his face, Marv asked in a kinder voice, "Now don't go blowing a gasket, Chick. Who are you talking about? We are _supposed_ to be talking about you, Chick. Not other cars."

"I need to know … if that Danny kid died … I-I would be responsible for that accident."

Marv was silent, seeing an emotion in Chick's eyes he hadn't seen in years. It was a look he never thought he'd see again.

_It had been an average day, the down season, and Chick was moving. Marv had somehow got suckered into helping him move. Well, maybe it wasn't suckered … it was more like blackmailed. After winning a big race, Chick took his crew out and got plastered. The next morning, Marv was woken up by a wet feeling, something licking his driver's mirror. At first he though he must have gotten lucky last night and his lady love was showing some early morning attention … then he heard the tell tale click of a camera. He opened his eyes to see that he was in the middle of a filed, tractor licking his side mirror, and a rather mocking grin on Chick's face._

"_Wow, you really got to pick up some standards, Marv, but at least she matches your paintjob."_

_Once he gave up chasing the racecar around the field, Marv found out that he had somehow ended up in a field after one too many drinks, cuddling up to a tractor for some nightly warmth. At least that's what he hoped had happened. Either way, he'd rather help Chick move all his junk then have the racer show the picture to all the crew members. So, when carrying out some boxes to the trailer he would be pulling, Marv dropped a box, pictures scattering everywhere and floating down to the ground like feathers. Groaning with aggravation, Marv had started to pick up the pictures when he noticed an envelope that was still sealed. Feeling curiosity peak, part of him wondering if maybe it was the photograph of him and the tractor, Marv opened the closed package._

_It was an older picture, he could tell by the rather faded look of the colors; they were not vibrant like present photographs. The strange thing was … for such an old photograph, why wasn't it in worse wear? How long had it been in that envelope? Either way, what really drew him to the photo were the people in it. He could see Chick, a very young Chick, and four other people. He recognized one of them right way: Henry Carson who was the owner of Carson Cola's. Then there was a red and black Cutlass racecar, an older Pontiac Firebird, and a homely Chevy van. It was curious group, but what struck him the most was the racer. Now that was a grin he knew … and rarely saw … in Chick._

_Was this Chick's family? Marv had to ask, hoping to find out if this was where the inspiration came from. He made the mistake to ask who the red and black racer was. _

Marv had never received an answer. All he got was that hurt, desperate look, before Chick ripped the photograph away and disappeared for a few hours. That look was so much like the one Chick Hicks held now. The crew chief couldn't find it in himself to push the green racer and stated in defeat, "I don't know. I didn't get to look at him … but there was a lot of oil."

The tent was quiet, the two old friends not sure as to what to say to each other, but suddenly Chick started to roll down the ramp, a grunt of pain coming from him as his tires hit the cement below.

"Woh, woh, woh! Chick, get back on the ramp. We fixed all the major injuries, but you were still messed up enough that we want to take you to a doctor, especially for that axel of yours. Now get back on the Ford forsaken ramp before I call Ken in here. I'll do it. I'll make him restrain your tiny chassis too."

Chick ignored the threat and continued forward, limping with the weakened axel. He had to know. Chick knew he wasn't a saint, a long ways from it, but he wasn't a monster. He did not want to be responsible for _another_ death. His heart couldn't take it, because than that would mean his father had been right about him … that everyone was right about him. He only existed to hurt people; he was a failure and that was the only thing he was ever going to be good at.

"Don't dare go out that door. I'll have the forklifts take off your wheels! Chick," growled the crew chief as he cut the racer off before he could exit the tent.

"Move, Marv. I need this right now, then you can badger me the whole way to the hospital, but I need this," said Chick with almost a tint of desperation.

The green pick-up remained there a moment more, his hard glare slowly fading until he gave in. Opening the tent for Chick, he gave the car a stern look while stating, "Fine, we'll go over and talk to the rookie's crew chief, but you are to go easy on that axel. And also, for the love of Ford, don't go spilling your guts out about how the crash was your entire fault because everyone is, so far, blaming it on the Better Buy driver."

"Yah, Chick. That's so unlike you … letting someone else take the rap for the accident. I thought you took pride in those sorts of things," came a voice across the way, Chicks and Marv's eyes going wide as none other than Lightning McQueen stood there with a rather snide looking expression on his face. "Well, am I right, Chick?"

A growl came from Chick's engine and he stated in a stale tone, "That was a nice finale you pulled off there, McQueen. What, trying to go out in a blaze of glory like your crew chief's career did … dent's are a good look on you."

The grin quickly disappeared from McQueen's face, his eyes setting to a glare, "Don't you dare insult Doc, he's twice the racer you'll ever be! Besides, at least he's not some kind of _failure_ that has to cheat to get ahead in life."

And there was that word. A word his father had used far too often. A word that seemed to follow him wherever he may, and how he loathed that word: _failure_. Something snapped … that something that he had never quite crossed when it came to the taunts of other drivers. His hate usually came in words and petty insults. No, no more words. He wanted action, and to punch Lightning's face in. The only warning Lightning got was the roar of Chick's engine … and then he was slammed into.

XXX

Paw07: Sorry for taking forever. I was nursing this chapter. Anyway, since I know there are a few OC's in this story, I decided to make a smooth little list at the end of every chapter from the previous chapters … because lord knows … sometimes I even forget a few of my OC's. XD Also, don't worry. I make no plans to have this story center on any of these character completely. This is still a Chick Hicks fic.

OC reminders:

Chase Chicks: a black 1980's Oldsmobile-Cutlass with red accents, was Chick's older brother and a racer

Danny Dunes: orange racer for the Demmy Duke's Paints, and got in a terrible accident

Henry Carson: a red 1955 Cadillac who owned Carson-Cola Oils and was Chase's sponsor

Ken: is a Kenworth semi that is Chick's driver

Manton Hicks: Chick's father which is a 1969 Pontiac Firebird

Marv: is a pickup that is Chick's crew chief

Slick Hemming: a dead racer mentioned from time to time, which died on the track due to his depressive state


	4. Battle Bruisers

Sorry, no beta today. We'll see her during the next chapter. XD

Chapter 4: Battle Bruisers

Lightning hadn't seen it coming or expected it, really, when Chick slammed into his side making him yelp out and slide forward from the impact. For a minute, Lightning was stunned, part of him unsure what had just happened despite the ache now in his side. He had never gotten into a bumper fight, a bar fight, or anything of the nature before. True, he had been in many accidents, but never had he been directly hit on purpose outside of a racetrack … or while in park for that matter. He wasn't sure how to respond at first … until Chick pulled away, metal screaming as he separated from his indent now in Lightning's passenger side, ready to ram the red racer again.

"Holy pit!" cried McQueen as he slammed himself into a reverse, doing a half circle so he was now facing a very enraged looking Chick. "What the Chrysler is wrong with you! Y-you dented me! Oh, you are so paying for a new paint job."

A growl escaped Chick, his back axel rising him up to make the green racer look larger, "I'll be taking no more of your exhaust, rookie! I'm going to put you in your place!"

Lightning yelp as he tried to dodge the attacker's forward lunge, Chick catching the younger car by the tip of his rear end, sending him into a spin. Lightning quickly dodged the next move though, his eyes wide and his cockiness mostly gone. This was serious.

Marv watched the crimson legend barely dodge his racer's next attack, his face becoming one of engrossed horror. This was not what they needed right now! They couldn't afford bad press nor have Chick rip himself up anymore than he already was. That axel could snap if Lightning was as good of a fighter as he was a racer. Suddenly, roaring his engine, Marv yelled, "Chick! Drop it! Come back into the tent before you do something you'll regret!"

"Stay out of this, Marv! This is between me and the brat!" Chick charged forward, Lightening jumping out of the way, burn marks forming on the cement below as the elder car slid to a halt.

"Brat! I'm not a brat. What is this, the fourth grade," gripped Lightning, his engine roaring. He was the next one to charge forward, the sound of metal screaming out to the gathering crowd of awed teams and citizens. Soon, with each insult between the racers, a new car came to watch. It didn't take long for the rest of Chick's crew to come and observe followed shortly by a stunned looking Fillmore, Sarge, and Mater who had been volunteered to help find Lightning by Doc. The retired racer had told them to find the kid before he did something stupid. Well, they found him alright, but they couldn't promise that he hadn't done something stupid.

Sarge watched the two cars clash and shook his hood. Lightning may have been faster than Chick but he was nowhere adding as much damage as Chick's slams were; Chick was the pissed one here, and Lightning just got caught in the middle, "Dumb rookie, gone and got himself into more trouble than he can handle. Doesn't know the first thing about throwing a punch. I need to whip that soldier into shape when we are done here."

Mater, on the other hand, merely started to cheer Lightning on as if this was some kind of wrestling match, until Sarge hit him in the side, "What are yah doing, Mater! We don't stand on the sidelines like cheerleaders; a platoon never leaves one of their own behind. Now let's get that red idiot before he gets his behind ripped off and handed to him."

Mater put on a confused face, his eyes squinting for a moment before he jumped in surprise, "Yah really think Chick can rip off Lightnin's bumper and give it to 'em. I donno Sarge … he'd have to be real strong for tha … like the Hulk!"

Sarge gave Mater a look.

Mater merely returned a thoughtful expression until his face was slowly overcome by horror. His tires started to shake and, getting low to the ground as he stared at Chick, whispering, "I just realized somehin, Sarge."

"What's that, Mater," said the veteran as he eyed the battle before him. He would like nothing more than to plow into that battle and beat the scrap out of the both of them for being so irresponsible, but that probably wasn't the best course of action … it sure would be the most fun though. Teach those two Privates a thing or two, it would.

Mater's eyes shifting as if paranoid, the tow truck whispering, "Chick … he's the Hulk. Right color and everythin."

Sarge stalled for a moment, and he immediately threw Fillmore a dirty look, growling, "You've been giving him weird things again, haven't you, hippie?"

"What, no way man. I learned after the first time … there was a first time … wasn't there … yah …"

Mater wasn't paying attention to the bickering going on behind him though as he crawled forward, worry painted all over his hood. He eyed Chick for a moment. The green racer was mad and soon enough, as was the nature of the Hulk, he'd get made enough to transform into his Monster Truck form and hand all their afts to them. No, he had to warn his best friend.

"Lightnin'! Don't make hem mad! He'z the Hulk! He'll hand your aft to you! Lightnin!" cried Mater, drawing closer and closer to the battle because he could tell the red racer couldn't hear his desperate pleas over Chick's roaring engine.

Marv, who was wondering if Taz - one of the forklifts - still had the blowgun around, was trying to decide the best course of action in order to stall this bad-press rumble. The blowgun might work, but Taz was always one for tall tales so that might not even be an option. Perhaps he should just go get Security and have them break it up. There was the Press problem though. Where ever Security went, Press would surly follow. Maybe he could have the forklifts take off McQueen and Chick's tires. Yah, that would … what was that tow truck doing? He was getting rather close to the brawl, but neither one was out for the count yet. What was … wait … that was one of McQueen's crew. Chrysler! They were going to gang up on Chick!

"Oh no you don't, rust bucket!" growled Marv as he rushed forward to cut off Mater, his backend jutting from his sudden stop. The tow truck merely stared at first, surprised by the interruption, but didn't back down. He needed to help his best friend. Chick might turn into the Hulk, after all!

"Move, wouldja please. I need to stop Chick," said Mater.

"I don't think so … back off!"

Meanwhile, Sarge was getting sick of the hippie's slurred reassurance that he hadn't given Mater anything recently – meaning that there was probably another time in which he had – and that this situation should be solved over a cool canister of motor fuel. Tuh. He never got why the hippie thought that way. Had motor oil ever solved a war? No, it had not. Pure strength and determination did.

"Listen Fillmore, I don't have time to listen to your flower-child talk. We need to get Lightning out of that brawl before Doc finds out and gives us all early radiator flushes as punishments," said the jeep as he tried not to twitch … Chrysler, Doc could be one mean physician if you got on his wrong side. It also didn't help that he had tires like a yeti either. He needed a space heater or something. Not that Sarge was going to bring it up … maybe after saving the kid's bumper he could convince Lightning into telling the Doc his tires were fricken cold, but he sure wasn't going to do it. One doesn't mock the medic and gets away with it easily.

Fillmore stared at the Willie jeep for a moment, mouth a-gapped as if confused. Then, squinting his eyes, he couldn't help but ask, "Do we have to help Mater too …"

"What do you mea … ugh," the jeep gave an exuberant sigh and sagged on his tires slightly as he looked in the direction Fillmore was squinting. Great, just what they needed, to add another member of their team to the fight, which was Mater no less. The tow truck was a terrible fighter, his only positive attribute being his tow cable. Well, it looked like the green truck was merely growling at the rusty being right now, so maybe he could break this up and be to the tent with Lightning before Doc can say 'get on the lift'.

Moving forward with a rather sour expressing, the jeep all but roared, "Mater. What are you doing?"

"Try'in to get passed," said Mater as he did a side jump to try and sneak around, the younger truck quickly jumping as well to block the tow truck's forward movements. "He won't let me."

Marv tried not to twitch as the jeep drew to a halt in front of him. Now he was getting a little nervous about playing Nose-Guard for Chick. He now had this tow truck and a probably very experienced Army jeep trying to get passed him. Well, he wasn't about to give his driver to the wolves … he'd start throwing punches of he had too.

"Back off old man! This has nothing to do with you," growled Marv, rising on his tires.

Sarge's eyes got wide. No, he just hadn't said that, had he? Well, that young whipper-snapper needed to be shown some respect for his veterans! Rushing forward, Sarge grabbed the green truck by one of his tires, twisting it slightly so that the crew chief cried out in pain and was successfully incapacitated at the same time. It was an old trick he had learned in the war. If one grabbed and twisted the tire just right it wouldn't break, but it sure would leave the captive mewling for release and willing to do anything Sarge said for it.

"Listen here you yellow-bellied cretin. I fought a war for your bumper, and I deserve some more respect than that. I dodged bullets for you, kid. I attained several wounds! Didn't your momma ever teach you anything?"

Marv could only whimper and blink back tears as he tried to remain as still as possible, hoping not to entice the ache in his twisted tire by moving. Of course the green forklifts didn't hear what exactly Sarge was talking about. They only saw an Army jeep gathering closer to their crew chief, grab him and making Marv yip in pain. They all gave each other steely gazes before nodding; oh, it was so on now.

So the rumble between two racers quickly turned into an outright battle brawler. Sarge had been surprised attacked by the green forklifts, causing him to release the green truck and was now, presently, growling at the green munchkins that were circling him like hungry buzzards. Mater, on the other tire, was now trying to use his tow cable as a lasso while Marv tried to knock him a good one. Meanwhile, Lightning still trying to get a good ram in towards Chick's bad axel, which he had just noticed moments ago when he gave a hit close to that racing wound. Fillmore, usually fuzzy minded and peaceful, was now downright distraught - as distraught as Fillmore can be that is – because this reminded him of his days at the protest rallies.

Driving forward towards Sarge and his little surrounding caravan, Fillmore spoke, "Hey, little forklift guys. Can't we discuss this in a peaceful manner over a cool drink of organic fuel?"

The six green forklifts stalled and gave the VW van confused looks like they were trying to decipher what Fillmore had just said. Sarge took this as an opportunity; it was like any other battle as far as he was concerned, and Fillmore had just played the part of live bait. Suddenly, lashing forward with one of his tires, he grabbed one of the larger forklifts who cried out 'he's got me' before the veteran hit him in the back of the head, successfully knocking the green, little, bugger out.

The five remaining forklifts all looked stunned for a moment before one of them cried out, "The jeep got Larry! The van was a distraction. Get them!"

Sarge growled as three of the forklifts went back to circling him, trying to get him tipped over, but failing due to the old timer's fast reflexes. Fillmore, on the other tire, could only stand there as the two remaining green beans went after him. He could barely protest when the next thing he knew … he was missing all four of his tires. Said tires were then rushed forward, being thrown at Sarge.

The jeep didn't see what was coming until all the green beans suddenly drew back, a tire being thrown at the soldier with a dull thud.

"Ouch, owh, why you little … owh!" growled Sarge as every tire that followed seemed to hit him right in the windshield or hood. Soon, the forklifts were out of ammo, and the Willie's jeep was now low on his axles, growling like a bear.

The five little forklifts swallowed, looking at each other before one of them cried, "Scatter!"

Elsewhere, the two trucks were still playing a deranged game of cowboy; Mater playing the part of the cowboy and Marv the part of the raging bull. Snorting, and getting low on his tires, Marv lashed forward, fully intent on sending the tow truck into a spin and into the surrounding crowd. The older truck, surprisingly, dodged though, crying 'o-lay' as his tow cable came around and snagged Marv by his back axel. The green truck could only yip out in surprise before he found himself being dragged forward, crying out as he tried to get a grip on something.

All Marv could think was one thing as he started to get dizzy: _They so didn't need this kind of Press right now! They so didn't!_

…

Grey was silent as he sat near the outside the Dinoco tent, contemplating his words carefully. He didn't want to blurt out what Ken had told him, being that it was completely speculated and containing no facts. He neither would remain silent though, so he had to word the coming conversations carefully. He had been in the pits a long time, seen happy endings and not so happy endings. He'd rather see a career end in silence then a crunch of metal, though. He had never talked to Chick personally, and Grey would admit the racer really pissed him off with that petty attack he pulled on the King's last race, but even he didn't deserve to die on the track. Chick should get to retire like Strip Weathers, enjoy his older years, age with a lady love, and die in his bed.

Pulling a large amount of air in, Grey pulled forward into the shadow encased innards of the tent. He was immediately greeted by one of the showgirls, her feathers fluttering due to a soft breeze out the door. Grey grinned at her and headed inward. Generally, he'd talk with the girls whenever he got the chance … what could he say? He was a sucker for a pretty femme, and his mamma had taught him well on how to treat them.

It didn't take him long to sight Tex … who was talking to the King. For a moment, Grey was still. He had promised not to tell his racer, but the King would want to listen in nonetheless. Yet, since Strip Weather's was no longer a racer, did that mean he could tell Strip? The semi shook his head. He was not in the mood to create a paradox. Besides, Tex had just seen him and had that warm grin on his face. The semi knew that soon he would wipe away that old, warm, expression with his words and did not feel in the least bit happy about it.

He quickly rolled forward, his air breaks huffing as he came to a halt. He put on a soft smile, "I'm back, Tex. Thanks for the Dinoco drinks. The guys really liked them." The blue driver than turned to the matching racer who now missed all his stickers.

"Hey Strip, haven't seen you in a few days. Thought you up and died on us. Oh wait, there's another word for that … retirement," said Grey in a playful manner, glad to see that Strip had decided to show up for this race; he was always a calming presence.

The vehicle merely chuckled, putting on one of his award winning grins before stating, "Tex why do you still have this lazy semi on your payroll? He's not doing anything except hitting on the pretty girls."

Tex chuckled at the light mocking tones. It was nice to hear the familiar sounds of the racer and his driver. He sat patiently for a moment as the two finished their conversation. Soon, Strip and Grey had finished their conversation, and Tex spoke in his usual cool tones, worrying that he had wasted his hauler's time today, "I'm sure you know about the accident already, correct? I'm glad you talked to Chick's driver for me about the party though, but it seems that there is no way Chick is going to be doing anything but whimpering tonight."

"Yah … about that boss … I didn't ask Ken about the party," said Grey, wilting on his tires slightly.

Tex blinked in surprise. Now that was very unlike Grey. All his crew usually came through for him especially something as minuscule as gathering information on cars' soon to be whereabouts, so there had to be a reason as to why, "Didn't ask him? Did the accident occur before you could ask, or did you upset the poor lad? He seemed very soft natured the first time I spoke with him. I didn't have the heart to pry more than I did that day."

"No," said Grey, guilt already starting to grip at his engine. "I was working my way to asking him, gave the guys all some cool drinks, told some jokes. You know, calm him down. I almost lost him, actually, but then …"

Grey was silent, noting how both Strip Weathers and Tex were eyeing him. They were both listening to every word, curiosity peaked. Sighing, he decided that sounding like a paranoid lawyer wasn't the way to go at this; it was too distant. He had to make this slightly personal. After all, he was Ken's friend.

"I'm going to be forward with you. Ken told me what he thought was wrong with Chick this season and why he wasn't coming to the races. None of the trucks there were very comfortable afterwards, but we gave him our word we wouldn't tell our racers," the blue car gave him a worried look at that, but a soft nod from Tex made him continue, "Ken is worried that Chick has become depressed."

The usual soft expressions on the two elder cars' faces disappeared quickly. Tex took on a worried look and Strip gained a pitying expression. Slowly crawling forwards on his tires, the King gave the semi a gentle tap on the side, stating in a soft voice, "Are you sure? That can ruin a racer's career saying something like that lightly. You know how the racing committee has been since Hemming."

Grey sighed, "Like I said … Ken suspected it, but he wasn't sure; it's purely speculative."

Strip Weathers continued to hold a gaze with the driver, he then shook his grill, "I have been watching the races, and now that you say it … Chick has been exhibiting strange behavior. The Chick I knew would never settle for anything under fifth place. He'd be pulling tricks like a magician on that track. I thought he was merely just trying to stay out of the lime light due to the bad Press after," Strip was silent for a second; true, he was still slightly bitter about how he lost at the last race but then he'd recalled Lightning's sacrifice, and small part of him realized that it was worth it, "my last race."

Tex shook his hood, and Grey frowned. That was a sore subject for everyone, but the King was always proud to admit that he had left a good racer in his stead: McQueen.

"Ah … yes, a bad move by Chick," said Tex, a sigh escaping the elder car, "but I believe you are correct Strip, and if there is proof of Ken's worries … we should do something about it."

Grey tilted on his tires a little bit, "Are we going to go to the Racing Board? I'd hate to betray Ken's trust, but if you both believe it to be best, I will be fine with that."

The two wiser cars looked at each other and the King rolled backwards, thinking for a moment. Then, with a smooth turn of his wheels, he headed for the tent exit, "I think we should talk this to his crew chief … and Chick, personally. We shouldn't create trouble where there might not be none."

Tex chuckled, glad to have Strip's cool thinking around for a subject of such a sensitive nature, "I'll be leaving Chick to you, thank you very much. He could always get behind you anyway."

Soft chuckling filled the room for a moment, recollection of Chick's runner-up years coming to mind.

"Well, we might as well get going before his crew chief grows bored of yelling at him and Chick is in good enough condition to limp back home," said Strip with a soft smile, Tex laughing deep in his engine. "Grey, would you do me the favor of telling Lynda I will be back in a little bit."

Yet, just as the three vehicles started for the entrance of the tent, one of the show girls raced inside, excitement in her voice as she cried, "Hey gents! Turn on the telly! Its seems like that Chick Hicks fellow and Lightning McQueen are having an unfriendly spat! Oooh, this is going to be good, 'specially since it looks like Chick's band is getting rowdy. Hurry!"

There were a collection of surprised expressions passed around by the three vehicles.

The show girl shook her head, "Bunch of opened mouthed blokes. Does the lady have to do everything?"

She flicked on the screen, her excitement rather evident. The older team members could only watched as the camera angle jiggled trying to get around the gathering crowd, but a flash of green and red soon came into view, metal cracking as McQueen got in a good hit.

Tex looked at the other two, "Well, I guess I was wrong about Chick doing nothing tonight but whimpering in pain."

…

Doc and Sheriff, who had started the search not even ten minutes ago, had gone to Strip Weather's tent first. They had both been expecting a warm welcome from the blue car, all they got was a worried look, followed by an introduction to a rather large plasma screen. The Hudson Hornet had been stupefied for a moment at what he saw until Tex nudged him, stating in a way only the knowledgeable car could, "I think you better go get that boy of yours before he digs himself a pit he can't drive out of."

That was why Sheriff and Doc were now sitting on the outskirts of a crowd of onlookers, both carrying sour expressions. Both cringed when a loud crack filled the area along with a pained scream from Chick. Sinking low on his tires, Doc stated, "I'm going to kill him. Picking a fight with Hicks? I thought he was smarter than that."

"The young are always stupid, Doc," said Sheriff, frowning, his cherries just twitching with the want to turn on with every yelp and crashing noise that came from the inner workings of the brawl. Finally, a rather loud cry escaping Lightning made the lights flash, and Mark rose on his tires, ready to perform his public duty.

"Sheriff, I think we should wait for Security. This is their job after all," said the Hudson Hornet as he carried a worried expression. He hated acting like a mother hen more than Mark's oldest friend, but he was worried about the peace keeper's health. He didn't need him getting into brawls, especially multiple car brawls! Why didn't he just get a young kid out of the police academy as an underling so he wouldn't stress his engine so often by chasing speeders?

"Don't give me that, Doc. I've had enough out of those two roughen roadsters," said Sheriff, talking mostly to himself than Doc who was watching with a combination of horror and anger. That look was quickly lost though and replaced with one of surprise, because, before the wise crew chief could even demand the officer to stay out of it, Doc noticed that the peace keeper was no longer next to him. Dust was all that was left in the Sheriff's wake.

Doc sighed heavily and sank on his axels, watching as Sarge growled like an attack dog as he was surround by a few of the green forklifts as if they were wolves after a black bear. The green crew chief merely stood near a tied up Mater, cheering on the attack of the soldier until, suddenly, a howling war cry echoed over the lot. Mater's war cry to be exact, and there was a brownish blur. The green truck didn't even have time to yelp when suddenly he was being dragged along by Mater's tow cable, the tow truck apparently freeing himself from his own entrapment. The crew chief, screaming like a dying engine before it blew, suddenly slammed into the fray between Lightening and Chick. Both racers were hit, sending them nearly into the watching crowd. Shaking their hoods in confusion and disorientation, both racers were about to get back up and continue their fray, when suddenly there was a flash of red lights.

"That's enough out of you two hotroders! Calm down before I have you thrown in the slammer."

Chick blinked, a glare setting on his features when he saw that he was being glared down at by Radiator Springs' Sheriff. His lip twitched, and he found himself growling at the intruder, "This isn't your territory, old man. This is between the brat and me! Now move before I … ugh!"

The green car suddenly jolted, his forward attack halted in its track by a … boot?

"What the Chrysler? When the pit did you do that?" cried Chick, more confused than embarrassed as he wiggled his tire. He had only been disorientated for a second, not long enough to have a boot placed on and certainly not without his knowledge.

"Yah, Sheriff," said the whiny voice of Lightning McQueen as he lift up his booted tire and shook it as if it were an infected thing, "Why'd you put a boot on me? Where'd you even get two for that matter? You pull them out of the thin air?"

"None of your business, hot shot! You two calm down before … we attract more attention than we _need_," gripped the older car, ready to turn around and deal with Mater and that green truck, but his jaw merely dropped as he turned to face half a dozen Security Guards who all had their lights flashing and none of them seemed to happy.

"W-why hello, fellows."

XXX

Paw07: I think this is a cute little chapter. I could just see the brawl, especially the little forklifts trying to rip off tires to throw them at Sarge. The best has to be Sarge trying to fend off the little monsters. Anyway, I like how this chapter wrapped up. For the next chapter … we get some time with Strip Weathers. Oh, I wonder how that is going to go over with Chick. xp

Also, I stole the 'yeti' joke from Maji and her fic 'Appointments'.


	5. Bailouts

Thank you to my beta: Lightening&Doc.

Chapter 5: Bailouts

"They can't throw me in here! I'm the gall-done sheriff!" cried Sheriff as the city officer drove off, throwing a glare at Chick and the rest of his crew which were located in the cell next to Lightning's crew. For a moment, there was a dragging silence in the large indoor cells. The two crews glared at each other, both blaming the other team for this present predicament.

"This is all Chick's fault," Lightning finally said, his crew all parting to the side so that the green team could all see the perpetrator of the silence.

"W-what!" said Chick as he rose up on his tires, glaring at the youth with his cracked windshield. He had put up quite a fight when the security had started dragging them off to the impound. He needed to find out what happened to that Danny-Rookie but most of all, he needed to be alone. He needed to think. What had that memory been about, anyhow? Why was he remembering at all? He needed to clear his head before he got to the end of road for all those memories; where they all joined in the sick joke of his life.

"You heard me, Chick. You started that fight and now, because of you, we're all stuck in here!"

"Don't blame this on me!" growled the elder racer as he drew nearer to the bars. "You're the one that started this, rookie."

"Taunting is hardly a punch," replied McQueen as he drew closer to the bars as well.

Chick sneered, his bumper rising in a harsh expression, "Don't play dump. You taunted me because you wanted to start a fight. You wanted me to look bad so the fans _wouldn't_ focus on your horrendously stupid rookie move during the race. You wanted this to happen! …Well, except for the jail thing."

Lighting's mouth remained open for a minute, astonishment evident. Then, moving his lips for a second as if confused, the younger racer replied, "What are you talking about? How hard were you hit exactly?"

"Don't play dumb with me, rookie," stated Chick, his rage rising to the surface again. "You knew I wanted to be alone, knew I had to do something far more important than deal with you. I wanted nothing from you and certainly not your lip. It's your fault!"

Lightning pulled back, feeling the tension leading to a degree that could match the hot temper during their fight earlier, "Okay, okay. I think Chick is seriously tripping. I didn't do a dang thing to him. Maybe we should call a medic. Hey, guard, guard!"

"Don't patronize me. You've been wanting to set me up for failure since last year's final race," growled Chick his engine fluid starting to boil. He knew he shouldn't be trying to start another fight after just being thrown into the slammer due to a loss of temper, but he could feel it crawling up the back of his hood: a memory. That was something he didn't need right now, couldn't deal with. For all he knew it was the pinnacle memory of all his failures, all his sorrows, and all his demons. Last thing he needed was to break down into a crying fit in front of his rival's crew and his own crew for that matter. They had enough to deal with from the race last year and his losing streak this year; they didn't need any more weight in their tires, like the thought that they might soon be jobless because their driver was having a nervous breakdown.

Lightning, feeling an old part of him crawling to the surface liking a cackling crow, started calling down the hall, "Hey we need a doctor here; one that specializes in Paranoid Schizophrenia … and electro shock therapy!"

"I'm not crazy!" growled Chick, his engine revving.

"On second thought, someone call the old age home. I think Chick's just suffering from old age," mocked Lightning further, his grin growing as he watched his rival become more and more flustered. Oh this was sweet, just too sweet. His birthday must have come early this year.

"Come on, we need a doctor in here. It looks like Chick is about to blow a gasket," said Lightning, turning from the enraged racer towards the bars readying himself to start yelling his mocking call down the halls when suddenly he stopped, eyes going wide for a moment when he realized someone was staring at him. Pushing the surprise down quickly and replacing his contemptuous smile with his usual cheeky grin, Lightning stated in a cool tone, "Oh, hey, Doc. Jeez, you're fast. I just started calling for a medic a second ago for the nutcase in the cell next to ours. Better watch out though … I think he bites."

Doc stared at Lightning with almost a bored gazed and then threw his expressionless, half-lidded gaze in the green racer's direction. Chick immediately dropped his sneer and fell back a bit into the shadows of his cell, his men falling around him like a barricade. The old racer just continued to stare though, not even distracted by the heavy engines that followed after him into the room. He just continued to stare at the green hellion as if looking for something beneath Chick's metal, seeing something everyone else couldn't. The Doc's silent expression did not go unnoticed and was only broken when Marv decided to interrupt it, his voice squeaking as he cried out to one of the figures that entered behind Lightning's crew chief.

"Ken! Took you long enough. Wondering when you were going to get here," stated the green pickup as he drew near the bars, the forklifts all following him forward and agreeing with spirited hoots, the whole crew trying to ignore the look from Doc.

Doc, noting that he was successfully being ignored, turned his attention back to his crew, an ill humored drip on his face.

"Just couldn't hold your tongue, could you? I shouldn't pay your bail, hot-rod, and leave you in here to rust," stated Doc, his teeth baring for a moment.

"Oh, come on Doc. It wasn't that bad," said Lightning in a nonchalant manner, his grin still there as he drew nearer to the bars. "Just a little extra press."

"Wasn't that bad? Extra press, you say … Chick, Lighting, you two were idiots out there," stated Doc, his calm finally disappearing as he threw a deadly glare around, successfully killing any hope-filled expressions in the room. "You both could be kicked off the track for the rest of the season because of this." He threw his attention at his trainee, "I thought I taught you better than that. I'm disappointed in you Lightning," the grin on the younger car's face automatically dispersed like dandelion seeds to the wind, "and you," said Doc as he pointed a tire at Chick, "are old enough to should know better than to act so foolish. I would punish you personally, but … someone else wanted your time tonight."

Chick, who had sunk back in his cell - hating the look the older car was giving him- merely perked up at the odd statement the old car had left him with as he drove behind his rookie, silent, but defiantly not done with Lightning's punishment. Chick could just feel the red racer's aching tires after the Hudson Hornet was done with him, but that was the least of his concerns: he hated mind games.

Well, no one said he had to play anyway. Slowly, his gaze fell on Ken who seemed awfully bulky in the small enclosure of the hall. Chick smiled, stating, "Well, it's nice to know one of us is responsible enough not to get arrested in a brawl."

Ken started to blush and nodded meekly to his fellow teammates, his front tire grounding into the cement below in embarrassment as he tried not to blush. Here the other team at least had a few of their members not arrested, but it seemed that he was the only level headed enough not to end up in the hoosegow. Yeah, that was just speaking volumes of the temper management in their team. Giving the Radiator Springs team a meek smile as Doc gave one last glace before exiting the room, Ken looked back at his team, some of the forklifts hanging lazily with their arms between the bars.

"You raise bail with the team's … special funds," said Taz, a crazy grin rising to his features.

"Please," grumbled Marv, his mood souring as he thought of Doc's forwardness; how dare he! Chick was his reasonability to counsel and discipline. It wasn't the old racer's job. "I know for a fact that that account is nearly dry. Somebody is always in trouble and doesn't have the mental capacity to either lie or ignore the law enforcement all together."

There were a collection of mumbled complaints and blushing from the others, but no one tried to rebuke or deny the comment just made. Instead, there was a dry chuckle. All the prisoned team members turned to glare at either Ken – which seemed unlikely – or the SUV officer next to him. The SUV's eye got wide and he quickly shook his hood stating that it wasn't him. They all turned back to Ken and slowly they heard a car go into gear and none other than Strip Weather's came from behind the semi.

"Oh, to be young and foolish. I remember those days well," said the King as he put on one of his soft smiles, looking directly at Chick who would have shied away if Marv hadn't caught him with the edge of his truck bed: he had to face this old, lingering, shame.

Ken, still blushing, stated meekly, "You were right Marv… there wasn't much left in the bail-out account, b-but Mr. the King kindly offered as long… as long… as long…"

"As long as what?" demanded Taz the forklift, frankly bored with the whole situation already.

"Nothing much. Just that we all go out to a little place off Decker Street, throw back a can or two, forget the hardships of the day… just talk," stated Strip, his gaze falling on Chick as he finished the sentence. He put on a soft, non-threatening, smile when Chick and he met gazes. He really hated to have to corner the other racer like this, but he knew he just couldn't ask the green boxcar over for a quart. Chick still considered him a threat, of that Strip was sure. So the prospect of just asking him about his mental state in a comfortable, personal, manner about the possibility of him being depressed seemed unlikely. He really didn't want to make Chick anymore uncomfortable than he already was, but a part of Weathers was dismayed by the idea that maybe Chick had more to do with that accident today than anyone knew. The racer needed to be confronted as soon as possible, and now was better than after some catastrophe.

He was trapped. Chick automatically threw a look at Marv and shook his hood, basically stating that he'd rather rust first. Marv's wide eyes quickly became a glare and before Strip or anyone else could add their opinions, the racer and the pickup were in the back of the cells having an argument in barely whispering, airy, tones.

"No, no, and no. I'm not taking anything from him," stated Chick. "This is a ploy for revenge. He'll probably drug my drink and steal my fuel pump or something. He's out for oil, out for my oil!"

"Don't get all paranoid. This is Strip Weathers, not Hannibal Lasabre, besides … we can always get you another fuel pump, but I don't know about another job," grumbled Marv, throwing a look over at the blue racer as none other than the owner of Dinoco rolled next to him, eyeing the two whispering beings. "You and I both know we are on thin ice with our sponsors. Lance warned us the last time he had to bail us out: he won't do it again. Just take the offer before someone gives that over-taxed Viper a call to come and get our bumpers before we start to rust."

Chick was still shaking his front bumper in all out denial, his voice trying to not shake as he stated, "No. I can't talk to Strip; I won't."

Marv was a bit surprised at Chick seeming fear of the older racer. It was a sore spot, the subject of last year's race. Marv knew for a fact that the boxcar despised more than admired the Piston Cup he received from that fitful race. It was hidden in a closet which beheld no light. In fact, Marv could even bet that the green racer had all but stopped opening that closet since the ornamental item had taken up residence in there. Not that he blamed Chick. The racer had struggled for years, his dream mere inches away, but he was always second best, a mockery. Chick Hicks finally grew tired of being denied so he took it by force. He raced not just for the paycheck, but for deeper reason; a reason that Marv did not know, but he did know that that honor had been tarnished. Chick had destroyed his own dream and Strip Weathers was a painful reminder of that.

Well, sometimes a little rough love is needed to bury any scars and confronting the King was probably the best way to build a scab over whatever invisible wound his racer carried. He'd rather recommend a therapist but the last few met untimely ends due to Chick paranoia.

Throwing a look at the forklifts around him, Marv's voice became softer, "Then if you won't do it for you and your job, do it for theirs. You know they all have families to feed and care for. Don't be greedy now. I know you always try to look out for them in your own way. This is one of those instances where you have to prove you are their boss and look out for them."

Chick was a bit taken aback by the cold bluntness of Marv's words. It wasn't the usual type of counsel he received from his crew chief; it was the hard truth. Lance would probably fire him and the forklifts would lose their livelihoods as well. He was a pushy car when it came to his passions and fears, but he wouldn't betray his crew. After all they did for him? What would that make him?

Just as much of a failure as his father had labeled him.

Chick wanted to sulk and flat out fire Marv and the others than face Weathers… but that would be unwise, not to mention cruel. Sometimes it felt as if the team was more his family: the family he never had. Knowing not what else to do, the green racer gave Marv a pained look. Marv raised a brow and then whispered, "It will be alright. Just…just grin and bear it. After all, we are going to the bar and you will have free access to all the high-grade oil you can get your tires on."

Despite himself, Chick snorted, a small grin on his face before he whispered, "Fine, but you're driving me home."

Marv frowned at this, thinking. Wasn't that what Ken was for?

Chick put on a fake smile, stated to the King and the Dinoco sponsor at his side, "Sure, as long as you don't steal my fuel pump and sell my engine to the underground racing circuit."

Marv nearly choked and Strip's eyes grew impossibly wide. Then, just as quickly, a chuckle escaped the older racer, a grin forming, "Never knew you had a sense of humor, Chick."

"I wasn't joking," said Chick under his breath as the door slid open, the forklifts hooting at the thought of a good time. Well, at least a few of them were going to have a good time. Chick was going to run them all into the dirt during the next practice for this.

…

The smell of high-grade fuel and oil filled the air, exhaust thick in the air. Chick didn't mind even though he ached and was scraped up from earlier that day from the race and Lightning. Those pains washed away with a little high-grade.

Too bad he couldn't properly enjoy the feeling of the oil in him because he was still on guard, The King sitting across from him. Chick was quick to avert his eyes from the blue racer's; Strip's gaze never seeming to drift away from him or his drink. He looked in Marv's direction. The Crew Chief had ultimately taken up speaking to Tex as the two of them kept an eye on the rowdy forklifts. There'd be no rescue it seemed.

Chick looked down at his can, noting that he was almost finished with his second can and hadn't even tried to initiate a conversation yet. His tires shifted slightly and he coughed, growing instinctively uncomfortable.

Not knowing what else to do, he started talking, keeping in mind to push this conversation away from the racing subject. He didn't think he could deal with an inquiry of his behavior during the King's last race, "So… why this bar? We drove pass two others. Is this place special to you somehow?"

"No. Not really. It just has karaoke."

Then, as if on cue, both cars cringed as a screeching note from the song 'Life is a Highway' crashed through the room. Both racers turned to stare at the group of slightly drunken forklifts that were stumbling over every other word.

"They shouldn't quit their day job," said Strip Weathers, small chuckle escaping him.

"Better not, especially with what they're putting me through," grumbled Chick to himself. The questioned look was enough to dissuade Chick's self grumblings and he quickly changed the subject, "So… what have you been doing since you retired?"

Chick automatically regretted his words. Hadn't that been what he had been trying to ignore? Dang karaoke!

Strip was silent for a moment as if thinking over the words and then he stated in an amber voice, "It's nice not getting scratched up every other week and it's pleasant to be home with my wife. You should really get yourself a good girl as well, Chick. It might calm you down, bring you some peace."

"What do you mean by 'calm down'?" added the green box-racer, his lip twitching and rage threatening to boil forward. He was calm! Okay, he had been calm before the inquiry of him being calm.

"I may be technically retired but I'm still the face of Dinoco. They really wanted Lightning as their new boy in blue but it seems that they may have to settle for someone else," said the King, his gaze unwavering, "and as such I watch the races, professional and amateurs. In fact, it was kind of hard not to notice the scuff you got into with McQueen … nor your racing habits of late."

Chick swallowed. He knew where this was going, and he wasn't going to be sober for it. He turned to a passing bar maid and grumbled, "Give me the strongest and largest drink you got. I don't want to come out of this place sober."

Strip was frowning when Chick turned himself back towards the other, the dim lights making his features seem harder than they actually were.

"You shouldn't drink so much, Chick. You know alcohol is a depress..."

"Listen Strip," said the younger racing, having cut into the conversation. "I know where this conversation is going so let's make this as painless as possible. Strip, I wanted that cup so badly. I didn't want to be remembered as the runner-up. I am not sorry about winning. I needed it … for personal reasons … but I went at it all the wrong way. My pride wouldn't let me lose and for that I am apologize. Be angry at me if you want, but know it won't change anything. You'll still be the hero, and I'll still be the runner up."

Strip's only reaction was a wide-eyed silence before a small frowned decided to own his face. He was surprised and under different circumstances he would have been glad for the apology, but this wasn't about what happened last season. This moment was about Chick Hicks and what he needed, if he knew it or not.

Gaining a soft look of assurance, Strip decided that he had dragged this out long enough, he needed to talk about what was really important: Chick and the hard time he was going through because an apology like that would never come out of the cocky, mean spirited, racer he had known last year without some intense prying. Not that he was judging Chick for it. All great racers went through it sometimes be it drugs, woman, alcohol, money, crime, underground racing, suicidal thoughts, or just plain depression.

"Chick, I'm glad for the apology, but that is not what tonight is about. I've been on the racetrack a long time and seen many different types of racing and attitudes. It makes me keen in seeing changes in racers' styles and tactics. Particularly, your tactics. I've never seen you race so … badly."

The green racer's eyes went wide and his breath threatened to hitch. Shit! Did he figure out that he was fixing the races, losing purposely? Ugh, if this got out he'd be ruined. Swallowing, he fumbled over his words, "Uh… ih… it's been a bad year."

There was a look of suspicion in the elder car's eyes and Chick saw it. His oil nearly went cold as his drinking "buddy" sighed in that irritating way only older cars did and shook his bumper just slightly, stating, "It's more than that, an old race car knows. Chick, are you okay?"

It was like a shot to the engine to hear that tone and see that pitying look on his once-nemesis's face. H-he hadn't just said that, had he? The older car was never intentionally cruel to him but he never showed much consideration for Chick since his rookie year on the professional track. It stung. It hurt. His pride nearly drowned in a mixture of emotions that ranged from rage to regret.

It was something only his brother would have said. Something he had said:

"_Chick, you okay?"_

_The green car, who had been staring at the dirt racetrack –with its slowly settling dust clouds- nearly bulk and fell into a nearby pit in his rush to turn round and face this intruder on his sorrow. His brother, with a half raised smile, was behind him, hood tilted in question and support._

"_W-why would anything be wrong?" said the car as he blinked back tears, his young body threatening to betray his words. _

_The black car frowned in disbelief, his eyes falling down on the still-shorter car with a disproving glint, "Don't give me that. An older racer knows when something's wrong. Now, tell me what's wrong. It wasn't like you got last. Third isn't so bad for a rookie."_

_Despite the warm nudges from his brother, a frown still gripped his bumper with heavy intent. He could only give a lowly begging glance with his eyes to state what he really meant._

_The elder brother frowned, his struggle to get his brother away from the track and to pleasanter moments stalled. It wasn't the track that was bothering him. He frowned softly at his brother's distress, knowing far too well what was wrong. After all, an older racer always knows._

"_Dad will come and see how great you are soon enough," said the red tinted car, his smile starting to falter._

_Chick was silent at first, his tears still threatening to spill, and then he stated, "That won't work anymore, Chase. I know __D__ad doesn't care about me. I'm a failure. I can't even win… and when I finally do, nobody will be there to see. Nobody important."_

_The old__er__ car's fake smile fell to the ground and was smothered in a cloud of dust. He titled his hood and stated in a tone only a loving family member could sustain and make you believe it, "Dad doesn't have to be… because I will be there to see you race and win. That's your brother's promise."_

_Despite himself, Chick was taken aback, his eyes full of disbelief._

"_B-but… what about your races? You'll be gone most of the time. T-there's no way you can see all of my races," said the young car, his voice cracking._

_His brother shook his head chuckling in that soft humored way only he could pull off, "I'll make it to every single one if it kills me. I won't miss your first win. Promise…"_

Chick was pulled from his memory abruptly by a whisper of his name. He didn't know if he should be grateful for the return to reality or not. He missed his brother more than anyone could know. Chase was more a father to him than his real father and yet those words – that moment hung in time like a decoration on the wall - was one of the most painful moments of his life. Those words would haunt him forever.

Yet, the present world was just as cruel. The look on Strip Weathers' face and the feel of tears threatening to escape the corners of his eyes was a sickening taste of reality. He swallowed and tied those pained little tentacles of memory back into the glass ball in which they were contained, the glass screeching as it threatened to crack. The tears were another thing. He couldn't hide them and blinking them back would just make them fall. It was best to just allow them to be, hanging there.

"I'm sorry," said the green car in a deep choking breath. "What did you say?"

Strip now looked worried, his old eyes wandering over Chick as if the younger car had just turned another color. He pulled back slightly as if he had just come to a realization. His worry quickly became sorrow and Chick found he disliked that look more than anything. Even when Strip lost races, he never looked sad. He saw Chick's pull from reality and the tears that threatened to smear his hood.

"You're not okay… Grey was right. You're falling apart right in front of me," the blue car stated, his intent starting to crawl forward like a snake from its den.

Confusion enveloped the box car, his mustache rising as he twitched his lip. What was he talking about? That pathetic attempt at a brawl with Lightning? Yes, his rear axle was killing him and he probably wouldn't be driving around much until he dropped off at a clinic and healed several days, but one thing for sure was that he wasn't falling apart.

"What are you talking about?" said Chick, his sorrow being enveloped by the situation.

"About you," said Strip, his patience folding under the situation but his tone still calm. "Chick, I know. You are depressed, aren't you? Your distant behavior, your string of losses, and the loss of control with Lightning. He's always got under your hood, but you'd use your wit to best him, not your tires."

"W-what?" Chick nearly balked at those words; worry about a fixed race the least of his worries. He remembered Slick Hemmings, everyone did. He remembered how cautious the Racing Board had become afterwards, and how cautious they were now. If a racer, especially someone with as much pull as the King, said that they thought Chick was depressed, Chick would be put through a psych evaluation and a battery of similar tests to see if he was capable of even being on the racetrack.

Before this last season he might have been suspected of having a few anger issues but not depression. He was far too narcissistic at times to even be considered depressed, but now with the memories of his brother reemerging and the forced losses on the track... he was breaking down, falling apart in more ways than one.

Was he really depressed? He had been feeling down … but…

"There is no disgrace in it," interrupted Strip. "Cars grow tired. Everyone needs a break from time to time," Strip held his tongue for a moment, his next words careful but full of demand. "You should take a break, Chick. In fact, after today's race, a part of me must _demand_ it, for your good and everyone else. Please don't make me go to the Racing Board."

There was a silence from the green car, his mouth unable to reply. It had been a hard blow, a cold one. It was a coldness that he would have never expected from the blue, noble vehicle; one that had been overdue on the racetrack, but not here.

Perhaps knowing how hard he had struck out, the King gained a sad expression and offered a comforting nudge with his tire against Chick's. That had come out a little colder than he had wanted it to.

"Please, take some time off. Cars get stressed out, there's no shame in taking a season off," said the King, remembering a season like that of his own. In the end, his crew chief and sponsors agreed that it was best for him to take a vacation instead of running himself into the ground. That season, he had met his best friend and wife.

The silence was burning that followed, but the King dared not interrupt it. Chick was stuck between a rock and a hard place. It was best to let him mull over his words instead of pressing them. Pressing this on the depressed racer would break him. Then, finally noticing that Tex had made eye contact with him, he nodded.

Tex turned to the green pickup immediately, Marv's smile disappearing quickly as he threw a look in Chick and the King's direction. King knew it was dumb to leave a broken car alone and expect them to make wise choices, so Tex had agreed to talk to Marv and give the crew chief a head's up before he left.

It felt like he was conspiring, but sometimes you had to play a little hard ball to do what was right. Sighing at the angry growl and curse that came from the strong-willed truck a few meters off, the old racer turned his attention back to Chick who seemed so pained that he was grinding his teeth, his bumper twitching.

He offered one more warm smile, stating, "Don't beat yourself up and if you need anyone to talk to, whenever, at any time, feel inclined to. I know we never got along very well, but I don't do this in some fake form of revenge or hate. I do it because I do care about what happens to you and the other racers on the track. Good night, Chick."

From the nearby shadows, Marv watched as the King left a shocked looking Chick to mull over his choices or lack of any. Slowly, glad for the noise of the bar so no one would overhear, he came up beside his boss and nudged him. Showing physical expressions wasn't something he did often, but it looked like if the boxcar was about to have an emotional breakdown; especially if what Tex said was true. Looking around, he waved a tire for the bar maid to bring another round for the two of them. Only once the cans had been placed stiffly in front of the two green gladiators of the track, did the crew chief decide to speak, "Chick, are you alright?"

The runner-up's eyes were wide as he almost begged for an answer, "You don't think I'm depressed, too, do you? Cause I'm not … am I?"

There was a desperate note in that question. No, it was a plea. Part of him was slightly wounded to see such a usually strong and confident car speaking in such a tone. Generally, he'd laugh in Chick's face for a statement like that, but that tone and that desperation pulled away any denial of Tex's words.

Lowering his truck bed, the crew chief did what he was hired to do and advise Chick, to tell him the truth. A hard truth that hurt him just as much because he knew now why Chick had wanted to talk to the rookie's driver today … he had caused that accident, hadn't he?

His eyes becoming half-masted his words slowing and dragged out, "If it's ever too much Chick … just tell me the word. There's no shame in saying you are tired. Are you tired?"

XXX

Paw07: Sorry for the delay on updating, but I've taken up an obsession my Jak&Daxter fics again and was trying to finish them. Either way, enjoy.


	6. Running

Chapter 6: Running

The silence was deafening despite the loud noise about them. Chick's lack of a reply was … disturbing. Chick was a talker. Not to the extent that a preteen girl would jabber on while discussing her sparkly, van-pire romances, but he was never one lost for words. The racer seemed confused and pained at the question Marv had offered him. The crew chief was now slightly regretting his words, regretting the whole situation, but Tex and the King meant well.

No one wanted another Slick Hemmings. And, personally, he didn't need Chick causing another accident. They might not get away with it next time. Poor rookie.

Finally deciding that he had to take charge, Marv put a tire behind the boxcar's front one and gave a slightly rough nudge, stating, "Come on Chick, you need to rest. I'll take you home so you can sleep on it. Tomorrow, I'll have Ken pick you up and we'll have that axel looked at. It seems fine right now, but it will get worse if not taken care of properly."

It snapped, like an apple tree limb bore with too much fruit, too many thoughts. Chick couldn't take them, couldn't hold anything else. He just wanted somewhere safe, someplace that would end these walking nightmares. He needed to hide from the world and… rest.

He needed to drive.

Without giving it much thought, he threw his powerful engine into reverse and nearly slammed into a bar maid and the customers behind her. The Topkick and his buddy –a lime green Search and Rescue vehicle- grew enraged immediately, yells rising and killing the calm of the bar. Chick didn't seem to notice or even care about the disturbance or the threats.

Marv knew that look immediately after Chick nearly hit the bar maid: he was going to run until his tires fell off, which with the green car's emotional state as well as the few drinks he had in him, Marv knew would be dangerous. He couldn't even move his lips before the squealing of heavy, racing tires filled the bar, smoke being thrown up as he slammed out of the bar.

Marv, knowing he'd never catch him but not having any other choice, cried after his racer as he too slammed out of the bar pickup bed swinging as he took a quick turn in order to follow the green dot that was fading into the darkness.

"Chick! Chick! Stop! We need to talk about this! Chick!" screamed Marv as he dodged around the traffic on the street his tires squealing and his voice breaking at the strain he was putting into his pleas. Nonetheless, the roar of the heavy engine grew silent to the city life, Marv unable to follow because Chick didn't even have headlights.

Swallowing heavily and slowing down to a crawl, the pickup shivered as a thousand thoughts echoed in his head; a part of him wondered if he'd ever see his driver alive again. Not knowing what else to do, he stopped and turned, preparing himself to head back to the bar to check on the rest of the crew. Yet, as he turned around, he met half a dozen pairs of eyes staring, whispering, mentioning Chick's name like it was a dirty secret from their perch on the sidewalk. These strangers had not right to judge Chick. They knew nothing of him!

Marv, not knowing what else to do, barked, "And what the junkyard are you looking at, scrap heaps!"

Then, not waiting for a reply. He slammed on the gas, leaving black marks as he high tailed it out of there and back to the bar. When he finally did get back –after he took a moment to calm down in a nearby alley and swear up a storm- he was met by a green mass. All of his crew, even Ken who had been outback, were staring at him with worried eyes.

Ken, the most emotional of the crew, was the first to speak, "We heard the commotion. Where's Chick? … What happened? Where'd he go?"

Marv looked around as if ashamed, his eyes downcast. He was supposed to keep this team together, keep them strong, yet one of the main components was just run off. He struggled for the words, but his voice could barely whisper a reply, "I couldn't stop him. Chick is gone. We need to find him before he hurts himself or someone else."

…

His engine roared, a lost lion on a burning Sahara. He was running, racing away from his pain and agony, but he couldn't get away… It was latched onto his back, digging into his metallic hide.

Chick yipped as if he had felt reality's claws dig into him, the harsh truth of the situation gripping at him. Regardless, he pressed on the gas making the Chevy in front of him scream as the other driver tried to swerve away from the racer's fury on the interstate. Not that Chick noticed or cared. He just kept pushing his racing tires and his injured axel, his form shivering in the darkness between the other cars on the road, their headlights threatening to engulf him.

A few minutes later, there were no more other cars. He wasn't even sure how he got out of the city or how he was now dragging his injured axel down the interstate, but without a soul in sight there was not one pair of headlights to chase away the darkness. He was left to the shadows because, after all, racing cars didn't have headlights which, believe it or not, is illegal.

Not that Chick much cared…

But Jimmy Jones knew this law better than most despite being a rookie. Not a racing rookie, mind you, with hot racing stripes but a car with flashing lights. He was a deputy for the county. He had joined the law enforcement because he was fast (a Dodge Charger), broke, and had _expected_ some excitement.

He took another sip of his oil as he looked down the barren straight way of the interstate. For four lanes of traffic…and it was sure dead.

The officer jumped, eyes wide as an old nightmare came to mind… _zombies_. This was how it always started in the horror movies. A quiet night before they came for your metallic innards. _No_, now wasn't the time. He needed this job. There were no such things as…

A roared echoed in the distance.

The deputy nearly jumped out of his metal sheeting. Swallowing, he heard the roar again, and was able to conclude that zombies didn't have running engines and especially not a heavy, powerful engine if the sound was anything to go by. Jones pulled out of his crook behind a rock face and looked down the lanes of traffic. He looked left and then right… darkness. He frowned. He was so bored his mind was playing tricks on him it seemed.

Growling his engine slightly, irritated, he was about to pull back into his hiding spot when –in a flash- a car raced pass him… mere inches from his front bumper, headlights off. For a moment Jones sat there on his back axel, his can of oil dripping into the ground. It wasn't until the cool oil hit his tire that the officer reacted, looking down at the spilled can. His lip twitched: he was going to drink that!

His CB radio turning on, Jones growled. "We have a reckless driver going west on 49! I'm in pursuit. He's going fast, clocked him at nearly a hundred and five!"

"Rodger that, rookie. Be there in a shake," came a reply from the county sheriff, Chief. "What does this hot rod look like, rookie? I'll cut him off."

The young officer grimaced as he shifted into the next gear a little too harshly as he took to the highway, throwing up rocks, "I think he was green or brown. I'm not sure though… his headlights were off."

"That fool! He trying to kill himself? Now move your gears! Put that young engine to some use," came a growl and the CB went silent.

The Charger could merely smile at that as he shifted into the next gear. It seemed that the county sheriff was bored as well. This idiot would be their entertainment for the night.

…

The cool night air, the sound of passing crickets, lightning bugs blinking in the distance, lingering heat on the pavement from the day's sun, and the bugs in his grill. It was all painfully-wonderful, drowning out all his mental pains with physical aches. It felt like some kind of dreamscape. He was racing for himself, his axel biting and his tires stinging yet he was winning.

He was escaping.

As long as the truth didn't catch up, he was a winner. He knew he shouldn't ignore the truth nor remove himself from it, because the truth was about who he was and had always been, but he couldn't face his past right now. He couldn't accept that he wasn't just a failure in his father's eyes but in the racing world's as well. For Ford's sake, insult was added to injury when the King decided to be the racing world's personal messenger: just give up.

Part of him had wanted to. Part of him, for a brief second, wanted to give into all the pain and misery of everything negative he had ever experienced and cry like a drunken idiot as he leaned against Marv, demanding drink after drink until he became numb.

He wasn't his father though. He didn't want to be like his father. He wouldn't break down into a drink for comfort and try to smother the rest of the world out.

Why was he even thinking of that old car? Why was he thinking of his old life! Why was he haunted by his past? There was no reason for it. He didn't need to remember. He didn't need to recollect or face the hideous dregs of his past. He didn't need to go back there.

He didn't need to go back … home.

The word stung at his chassis as if someone had mentioned the taboo name of someone that had recently died. He was even about to break and pull over and just sit there in order to mope over it. His axel hurt like nobody's business, and he could even feel something wet dripping down his tire. He was leaking, wasn't he? Plus, he was filthy. He even tasted dust in his mouth from the desert highway. Maybe Marv or one of the other's would just drive by and find his half dead carcass on the side of the road.

Sighing in resignation, he was about to pull over and probably call Marv when there was a sudden flash of light from behind, a cascade of red and blue. The officer, throwing up a world of dust, barely missed cutting off Chick's straight way, his grill twitching with an excited grin.

Tires squealing as he dodged the older officer, Chick finally noticed that there was another police car racing over the hill from behind. The one must have been behind him and he hadn't even notice. At the speeds he was going, there was only one thought in his head: he was going to the slammer for this.

Anger suddenly boiled in his engine block at the thought.

He had been fragged over far too many times today. He had nearly died, watched a rookie become maimed/die, was having a mental breakdown, was publicly mocked by his rival, was crippled and in pain, was threaten by The King, and now he was just going to give that retired racer all the more reason to keep him off the track.

And to top it off, he was already on thin ice with Lance because of the piston cup, the accident, the fight with Lightning… and now a high speed pursuit. He would be fired if this got out and maybe banned from the track far more permanently for racing on public streets. He would not let that happen. He didn't even know if he was going to obey Strip's demand right now. But for pits sure, he was not going to be destroyed by some nameless enforcers. What was the point of being a racer if you couldn't outrun some side-road cops?

He was a race car! He may be damaged, depressed, and publicly detested, but he was still a racer!

He had some pride, and he had the engine!

Engine suddenly roaring in determination, rear axle forgotten, he gunned it just as the two patrol cars pulled up to his side, ready to bump him and send him ricocheting into the ditch.

Jones coughed as exhausted fumes were slammed into his face, his engine hiccupping in surprise as the perp made a jaunt in front of them. In fact, the roar of that powerful engine was almost enough to stall his engine. Baring his teeth, the younger car took that as an invitation to see who the better car was here. It seemed he finally got the excitement he had been craving. He also wondered if he would be regretting it.

Chief didn't seem quite as determined though, but was still grinning, smiling like a lecherous car in the red light district. Winking at his young recruit, he purred, "Seems like we get to have a little fun this evening. Come on, let's try to get him before the Highway Patrol gets their grubby tires onto our catch."

The youth rolled his eyes at the older car, but gladly followed after when the older officer slammed on the gas and in a blaze of sirens and exhaust fumes the two of them were gunning it. This would be an easy catch. At least it had meant to be one.

About five minutes in, they both knew that this car was not going to be an easy arrest. They couldn't exactly get close enough to bump him and cause him to careen out of control. He was slippery, only slowing down when he slid off the interstate to a side road or an overpass, trying to lose his pursuers.

CB roaring to life, he growled to dispatch to throw out some spikes, "This is Chief, I need some spikes, west bound, on Highway 84. The perps going nearly going over a hundred and thirty, Gary. I want him taken down!"

The voice on the dispatch line chirped, "Chief, really? Well shoot. There are some officers nearby at the truck stop, I'll get 'em. You want me to contact the Highway Patrol as well?"

The county sheriff twitched. He didn't much care much for the head patrol officer for the interstate, but he'd use him… only if he had to. Growling, he stated, "Not unless we have to. Let's see if we can take care of this clean and quickly."

"Sure thing, boss," added dispatch.

Meanwhile, down the road, two highway patrol officers were parked on the approach, low on their tires. It had been dead this evening, all the traffic from today's race gone hours ago. So it was of little surprise that the two perked up when they saw the two officers from Bridge Town come down from the east, sliding to a stop. One was a jeep with spikes primed and ready in his truck bed.

Before even thinking that the county chief hadn't informed the highway patrol, the jeep blurted out, "You see that green and brown car racer go by yet? We got the spikes! Gah, I love the spikes! Just watching the rubber fly everywhere is awesome."

Ignoring the jeep's enthusiasm, the Highway Patrol car shook his head, his brown color clashing with the black officers, "Um… what…."

It was then they all heard the sirens and saw the shadow of the car without headlights come over the hill. The speeder's form was hard to make out since he didn't have headlights on, but they could tell he was boxy in shape.

Jebb (the jeep) whooped and slid passed the two frowning Highway Patrol, the spiked roll being thrown out. They all slid down into the ditches, waiting for the headlight-less vehicle to slam into the spikes and careen into the ditch. If not, they were all ready for pursuit.

One of the brown patrol officers turned to glare at the black and white Crown Victorian, an older officer, asking, "Why weren't we informed there was a high speed pursuit? You know it's been dead all day, everyone at home watching the race or long gone hours ago."

Victor shrugged his chassis and added, "Blame the Chief."

The brown car rolled his eyes, stating, "Oh, is he still pissed about that bet? It was like ten years ago. Tell him to get over it. I mean it was over an organic monkey. Who knew that monkeys even…"

"Here he comes!"

Chick, eyes squinted, able to see the road due to the lights behind him, barely even saw the spikes in the road. The only reason he even knew to dodge was because there was a car in the ditch… four of them. Giving a straggled cry, he barely had time to dodge into the ditch, bottoming out on the rocky soil and winging a jeep before he found himself skidding in the opposite directing then he had been driving in, going into a tail spin.

Chrysler, it had been so long since he raced on dirt that he had forgotten the mechanics to it. You go in the opposite direction sometimes when you are turning hard enough.

Not that that was an important right now. He was spinning uncontrollably and could flip and die. At least since he was covered in dust his death wouldn't be on the news immediately. Maybe Lance could pull some strings and no one would really know how he died. He had shamed his family's name far too much the way it was already.

Yet, as the spinning stop, he realized he wasn't in the ditch, upside down, or sitting in the middle of the highway for east bound traffic to hit. He was facing east, on the other side of the interstate, parked on the side of the ditch, a semi blowing past with nothing but the honk of his horn a second later.

Shaking, he eyed the shocked officers' gaps or glares on the other side of the interstate, not one of them making a move until a old car that had been chasing him slid to an halt, dust rolling out into the air like a cloud of mosquitoes.

Chief found his voice, noting that he couldn't really see definable features on the perp due to the lack of light but at least he could make out enough features to tell it was a young car -well, middle aged- and panting, "Give up this ignorant pursuit, boy! You nearly got yourself killed! What if you had stalled in front of that semi? You'd be nothing my spare parts!"

Chick shivered, the officer's voice demanding and faintly concerned. For a moment, he considered just staying there until the traffic passed and allowing the small collection of officers to take him it, accepting his fate. It would be easy. He could just hang his hood and give into his depression and the sting of his axel.

It would also keep the on-coming traffic safe. He could hurt someone…

"_So tell me … are you going to be just as fast as your brother when you get older?" _

"_Yeah, I'm going to be just as fast as my brother."_

The words echoed in his head as Chick started to give up, the chuckling of the old cola car echoing in his head. He swallowed. No, his brother's … sacrifice… would all be for naught. He must not give up. Picking up his sagging form, the next passing semi served as cover as he roared off, heading east.

The Chief swore. The car, he could see it in his face and the way his form sagged, had been ready to give in. Then suddenly there was a _flame_ in that dirt covered form and the perp suddenly decided he wasn't done yet and sped out between two semis. So the chase continued, one of the town cops stalling to block off traffic. The other five officers rushing after with sirens blaring. They all knew the perp was going to get away though. He had been at a hundred and thirty yet suddenly he had hit about a hundred and fifty. There was no way they were going to be able to catch him, unless he crashed and got himself killed.

Didn't mean that the state patrol nor the county officers were going to give up, even when the car careened onto side roads, taking turns so fast that he slid around the corners more than gripped them. These stunts even caused one of the Highway Patrol officers to slide into a road side lake, his partner staying to rescue his him before he could procure water damage.

It wasn't until Jones's tire blew out that Chief accepted that they may not catch this fool.

Jone's engine was shivering in heat and stress, his blown tired seemingly painless compared to his engine's oil pressure right now. He was too young to be blowing a gasket and Chief was glad the youth knew to stall on his own, though he was sure that the blown tire helped him make that decision.

Besides, that idiot driver had to be hitting a hundred and sixty! How were they supposed to keep up with that?

Tim groaned, not wanting to look at the black shadow of the escaping car. He knew he shouldn't care that the racer was getting away. He had nearly crashed, and now he was shaken up something terrible.

Trying to vent in some cool air, he noted that the Chief had turned around in the grass and was now coming back to check on him. It was a nice sentiment, to make sure he was okay and not in need of an ambulance or wrecker, but the Chief should have been after that offender!

"Chief, I'm fine! Get him! Get 'im!" he choked, engine coughing back some fluids.

The older car huffed, alarm now off though his lights were still flickering. He got low on his tires and peeked under the youth's under carriage for a moment before doing a quick, circle around the other for damaged. The youth had nearly rolled himself when his tire blew and the elder car knew all too well what that rocky soil could do to an undercarriage.

"Chief! Get going!"

Growling his engine, the County Sheriff stated, "Calm down, Jim. If I went after him, my engine might blow or my tires might give out like yours. He could probably hit two-hundred miles an hour if he wanted and he is also now so far ahead. I'd never catch him. Plus, I'm not just going to leave a fellow officer on the road without checking to see if he's critically damage or not."

The younger car got lower on his tires and started to pout, "It was my first high speed chase… and I lost him."

Shaking his hood, Chief stated, "Won't be your last and everyone else lost him as well. Now tell me, you leaking anything?"

"No, but I just hurt all over… this sucks."

"Yeah, but it will sure be a tale to tell. That idiot was a bon-i-fied racecar. If you are going to lose to someone, it best be a professional," chuckled Chief.

The youth, engine puffing, turned to the other and asked, "What? Are you sure? He was covered in dirt, and I couldn't even make out his license plate, but that doesn't make him a real… _racecar_."

Chuckling, looking for a CB signal, he stated, "You can tell with the type of engine he was using and those racing tires… Plus, racing cars don't have license plates nor headlights. He fits the description to a 'T'. Now if he was a professional racer, rookie, or retired… I have no idea, but I'm sure we'll find out soon enough. I just need to make one call."

Chief was just smiling from tire to tire as he got a signal, coming over all lines, "This officer Chief O'Reily. There's a high speed pursuit in progress, heading east on highway 54. Boxcar, no headlights, no license… most likely a racecar. Green or brown in color. Do we have any eyes in the sky? Again. Are there any police copters in the area?"

There was silence until the masculine voice, dispatch, came over the line, "Chief… you sure it's a racecar? I'm sure I can get an eye in the sky in less than ten though."

"Positive. Also, I need to get a wrecker out here as well. Or should I say wreckers if that one idiot is still in the lake, but the rookie blew a tire and Victor plowed through a fence on a turn. They must have thought they were racecars as well," chuckled the other vehicle, nudging the youth as he roared his engine and swerved behind the crippled officer, pushing him forward and to the side a little incase traffic needed to get by.

At least this offered an important lesson to the rookie. He shouldn't be getting calls on his CB anymore with the kid telling him he was bored.

…

Chick had almost slowed down, given into the pain of his strut, and whooped when he escaped the officers without even trying.

Nothing is every that simple.

There was humming, behind the low growl of his own engine and before Chick even knew what it was, a light fell down on him. At first, it scared the oil out of him and he found himself choking on a dry scream, weaving, and gunning it. What the pit. There was a light chasing him!

An old paranoia from his home town came to mind and he had to tell himself:

_There's no such thing as aliens. _

_There's no such thing as aliens. _

_There's no such thing as aliens. _

"This is the State Patrol. Pull over! This is the State Patrol! Pull over!" suddenly came a demanding voice above him… and he couldn't help but choke, flashing lights soon disturbing the evening air. He swallowed as a thought occurred to him.

The state did have helicopters on the police force, didn't they? Ford almighty… now he had to outrun a helicopter as well?

…

Chick's whole form shivered, his fans gasping, his eyes shifting in paranoia. His tires ached, his engine had nearly overheated, his axel was on fire, his tank was almost empty, and every inch of his frame was covered in dust. He couldn't even see his stickers for that matter his coloring.

Outrunning the cop cars had been fairly easy, even the state troopers, but outrunning the helicopter had been another thing entirely. He only hoped that the flier didn't get a good look at him or he'd be in a deep trench. He closed his eyes, paying attention to his breathing before he opened his eyes again and looked around. It was lucky that he ran across this old drive in theater, given that it was surrounded by trees and had small buildings to hide under.

The whole chase had been stupid… stupid and _fantastic_. He had got to race, to run, to out drive all his problems. He had been free from his shame, tears, fears, and truth. Now his high was gone, dragged into the dirt, and he felt worse than ever. He was even too exhausted to cry at the moment. Wilting on his tires, Chick glared down the dirt road he had come from. Did he even have enough gas to get back to the highway? This movie theatre was dead, surrounded by rising weeds trying to consume it… and so was the town that guarded it.

It had been forgotten… just like his brother… just like him. If he died here… no one would remember or probably even find him.

Slowly, Chick closed his eyes. If he was going to die… here was better than any other place.

_Chick tried not to rear up as he drove (more like limped) toward his brother who was autographing tires and side mirrors for fans… fans that had been his fans before this last race. Now though, they had thrown him to the side like an old tire when he didn't get his usual second or third place, a nasty blow-out had stolen it from him and all his fans forgot him the next lap over. _

_Chase, perhaps seeing the pain in his brother's eyes, shooed away the remaining fans and drove forward, his stickers glinting, as a worried look took over his tired, exhausted eyes._

"_Hey, hey, don't get upset, Chick. Racers have bad days. Don't let it get you down. This is just the minor leagues after all," said Chase, petting the tire that had blown out because he knew that even though the tire had been changed, the rim was still sore._

_Chick swallowed, shame blossoming to his cheeks as he looked away from his brother, whispering, "They booed me."_

_Chase drew back with a raised brow, his glance falling to the departing figures that he had just signed autographs for. His mouth remained a frown, but then he stated in a brutal tone, "Fans are frickle. Never base your importance on them. It's your friends that should matter. Besides, your best fan says you did great. Losing a race is not a bad thing. It teaches you what not to do next time."_

_Chick wanted to glare at his brother, but then sighed as he recognized it was true. It wasn't his fans he looked for in the crowd when he lost or nearly won… it was Chase's. _

_Putting on a soft smile, he asked, "Well, I guess you have come to every race. Now tell me, my number one fan, you going to take me out for a drink?"_

"_It matters… is it the non alcoholic type, if so, yes. If not, fat chance. You're still under aged…"_

Opening his eyes, the dream was drawn away, reality making itself known again. He wasn't sure when he had fallen asleep or how long it took to get away from the helicopter, but someone was staring right at him. What… what? The racecar yelped on instinct as a pair of green eyes stared back.

"Get away! What? Who? What happened? Why's the sun … out? Have I been here all night? What about the cops and the helicopter? Ken, how did you find me? I …"

Wait... what was Ken doing here?

"Ken?" he asked in a horse voice. "How did you find me? I don't know how long I ran but…"

Ken, whose hood had been holding a worried expression as he looked over the expanse, just sitting there as if he were waiting for something, suddenly turned those green eyes on his boss. Those eyes, which had seemed lost moments ago, were now angry which was rare for the usually placid semi.

Ken's huge engine growling, he pulled forward so he was now face to face with the racer, his words uncommonly mature and deep, "I followed the cop cars, Chick, and then the drops of oil coming from your broken axel."

The racer was almost taken back by the tone. Had Ken, good old kind Ken, just snapped at him? Yeah, the forklifts and Marv did it all the time, but Ken?

Not knowing how else to react, the green boxcar stated in a hushed tone as if he was being berated by his father, "I-I'm sorry."

Suddenly, probably noticing his lapse in character, the semi sighed, his air breaks squeaking as he mumbled back in reply, "No, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap. It's just that… I was afraid you hurt yourself."

Sounding a little more worried, Ken continued his rant in almost a rushed voice as if reliving the fiasco, "There were cops on their CBs going crazy and all, stating that the their perp and he was some kind of suicidal psychopath driving since he was driving so fast in the dark without headlight. They were all trying to catch him, tires blowing out, helicopters being called in, half the Highway Patrol."

Looking away from the shocked expression on the racer's face, the semi continued in a softer tone, "Marv sent us all out looking for you. He told us… _everything_… about what the King said."

Ken looked a bit guilty about that but continued regardless, "Marv said he was worried about you and didn't want you doing anything stupid. And when I heard about a racing boxcar without headlight over the CB, I knew it was you and I thought you were trying to hurt yourself."

Chick looked away, frowning. He had been having a really hard time and he would be lying if he stated he wouldn't mind finding a hole and hiding in it until he rusted, but suicide never truly crossed his mind as a true option… but with how bad things went last night… well, Marv probably thought the worst.

Shaking his head, Chick added, "No, I would never do that. I'm sorry I scared you guys or Marv. I just … had to run."

"I know you would never do that… too proud," stated Ken, not liking the hurt feeling on his boss's face be it from the night drive or from the distrust, but he continued with a slightly childish demand, "But don't do it again! You're my friend. I don't want anything bad to happen to you."

Chick laughed in his throat and was about to roll forward and punch Ken on his huge tire for being such a panicky idiot but stalled. He held back the grunt of pain by revving his engine, but his lip cringe could not be hid. When he tried to move forward, a pain had jumped up his struts into his body, a dead numbness around his injured tire. He had pushed himself too hard, hadn't he?

Finding that he really didn't want to move at the moment, Chick added, "Marv's really pissed, isn't he? Going to boot me in my front yard if the cops don't do it for him, huh?"

The semi shook his head, air breaks squeaking as he got a little more comfortable with the situation, stating, "I can't speak for Marv, haven't gotten a hold of him, crappy reception on this part of the state, but the cops just think it was some idiot driver. After all, the famous Chick Hicks is suffering from an injured axel. Why would he be racing like a mad car?"

Chick offered a strained grin as he struggled to try moving his back tire again, the numbness now feeling really wrong since the rest of his undercarriage felt so raw. He could feel something wet under him though, but regardless he struggled to keep the pain out of his tone, "Mad car? You don't have to rub it in."

Suddenly giving up, he just wilted onto the ground, his driver frowning at him, "Great, glad to know you'll cover for me if the cops do come snooping, Ken. I've had enough verbal punishments in the last few days to last me years, thank you very much."

The calm attitude that was Ken dripped away into a frown as the semi cut short Chick's rising mood, "Oh, I'll lie to the police for you, but I'm telling Marv _everything_. You know I obey all the traffic laws, so I'm pro driver's safety … and you could have hurt someone. So obviously Marv's going to punish you for sure."

Shaking his hood with a strained grin, suddenly feeling really dizzy, he recalled Marv's traffic-law-obeying visage when a wave of blackness starting to eat at his vision. Panic immediately set in though Chick quickly murmured with hoarse sarcasm, thinking his last words to the world at least should be something witty, "Okay fine, but can you tell him after I pass out? He will be more lenient on a punishment then."

Ken put on his confused puppy look, asking, "What do you mean…"

The green racer didn't have time to reply before his eyes rolled into the top of his hood, leaving a very panicked driver to freak out. Ken, not knowing what else to do, got closer to the car and was about to shaking him when he felt something wet on his tires. He swallowed and looked at the small puddle of mixed fluids that most likely had formed there over the hours Chick had rested there. The grass was high so Ken hadn't noticed until now.

Chick had really ripped himself up last night, hadn't he, and Ken really didn't know how to deal well with high stress situations.

Not at all.

Panic reaching a dangerous level, the driver started to shake the other slightly as he tried dialing Marv again, hoping to get a signal as he whimpered, "Chick! Don't die! Marv will kill me! Wake up! … Please, wake up."

XXX

Paw07: I've had most of this chapter done but just couldn't write that chase scene for the life of me. I considered doing a skip forward scene but what fun would that be? Anyway, felt I should kick something out for 'Cars 2'. I wonder if Chick is even in the sequel? Doubtful. :(

**Grammar Revisions: August 2013. **


	7. Grinding Gears

Chapter 7: Grinding Gears

It had been an interesting race. The accident, to everyone left in Radiator Springs, had thought it had been the most exciting aspect of the race, but they were wrong. The fight with Chick had been on almost every sporting channel, even the Chess Channel. Doc at least had the sense to call the remaining citizens in town and state that nobody was seriously injured. That was why Ramone was happy. He had watched the tussle and knew almost everyone had paint scrapes. He was so going to mock all their afts and then charge them all for new paint jobs. That was why he was sitting at the entrance of town, readying himself for a good old laugh.

The desert casted its reflective mirage under the hot sun and it took a few moments until the body artist realized it was one of their teammates coming down the road before he started to smile like a wicked troll.

This did not go unnoticed by Sarge, the first to roll into town.

Grinning wickedly like a predator, he stated in adrawl, "Hey Sarge you look nice today."

"Shut your mouth, hooligan," grumbled the old jeep as he drove forward, not even bothering to stop, bright green blemishes ruining his old army paint as well as a large collection of dents.

Ramone was not offended. He knew the old trooper was just mad that he had finally lost. Ramone had been trying to get the jeep to get a new paint job for nearly a decade now. He had heard that back in the day, some cars had had lead used in their paint jobs. He didn't know if Sarge had had his paint redone since then or not, but knowing how traditional the old soldier was… it seemed unlikely. It would never be the perfect military green… not that the old soldier had much of a choice now.

Smile still firmly planted on his grill, the painter turned his gaze to his next canvas. This one he had painted recently, but it was always a pleasure to get rid of those horrible stickers from time to time with a fresh coat of paint. Doc seemed to have kept his grill to himself during the scrimmage though… not even a smudge of green as the two rolled into town. It seemed Doc had made the rookie drive the whole way home.

Naughty racers don't get nice trailers, huh?

Sinking on his rims a little in a relaxed stated, Ramone didn't even think twice as he spoke to the racer, "Lightning, when'd you get a new paintjob? I don't know if green smudges are your color."

"You should see the other guy," the racer added with a cheeky grin, his lightning sticker glinting for a moment.

Doc, feeling that the drive home wasn't punishment enough, bumped the youth in the bumper for the remark since apparently he had learned nothing. In a gruff tone, he stated to his rookie, "I wouldn't be too proud about putting a few dents in an already injured driver's skid plates, rookie, and stop eyeing him Ramone. He's not getting a new paint job until he's the very last; some dents and horrible paint should teach the rookie some humility."

"W-what! Oh come on. It will take days just to trick Sarge and Fillmore into getting new paint jobs. You can't do that to me," complained the red car as he tried to break and complain to the artist only to continue to be bumped forward by a clearly irritated crew chief.

"As far as I'm concerned, it's already done. Move your bumper. My word is law in this town."

Lightning seemed flabbergast, rising to defend himself, "I demand I lawyer. Keeping paint from a citizen is unlawful! Unlawful!"

Ramone chuckled to himself as he watched Lightning reluctantly pushed forward. His gaze then met Mack's who nodded in return, grinning as he stated, "That was sure anything but a boring race, wasn't it?"

"Sure was man, recorded the whole thing to laugh over later," the two of them chuckled at that as the semi slowly rolled forward, the artesian adding, "You enjoy watchin' that lazy rookie carry his own weight for once?"

Mack swung his cab back and forth as the chuckle became a full blown laugh, "I should ask the Hornet to punish him far more often. It was nice to have a light load."

A snicker escaped the old, blue car in front and an echoing yelp of "traitor" escaped the rookie. Ramone just enjoyed the sound of that laughing semi a few moments more before he turned his attention to the next victim… uh, customer.

Lastly, came Fillmore who was being hustled forward by the Guido and Luigi as if the van was just learning to drive, "Whoa … what happened to you, man? Forget how to drive?"

The van braked in front of the low rider, shaking his hood and complaining as Luigi frowned up at the still vehicle, "I keep telling these two I want my old tires, man, but these two are repressing my freedom. Repressing!"

"V'ell that will be imposable. Luigi says that they are gone, lost and sold on the eBay as if they were as memorabilia. Besides, Luigi would have not touched such disgusting tires. They are not suitable for the junk pile much less to be driven with," said Luigi as he bumped against the van softly so he would keep moving and not drive into the ditch.

Ramone nodded and was about to follow after and see who would be his first prey when the body artist stalled and asked, "Yo where's Sheriff?"

Luigi, who had stalled, turned around quickly and added, "Ve'll he stayed behind with the rest of the road block, they didn't want some mad racer in high pursuit getting through."

Getting high on his tires, he excitedly asked, "Mad racer? You mean Lightning? He was kind of mad to pick a fight with Chick after the race," chuckled the low-rider.

"Not that mad racer… another v'one. It should be on the evenin' news. Now… Luigi has to teach this van how to drive," stated the little vehicle as he zoomed on past… leaving Ramone intrigued.

It wasn't more than a moment or two before he was racing after the group, crying, "Wait up. What channel is that on? I want to make fun of Sheriff if he pops up on the news."

A few hours later, Lightning came into Flo's covered in dust.

"What's everyone watchin'," gurgled the racer he came to a slow halt out by Flo's ready to grab a quick snack before bed. Doc had driven him hard, abandoning the youth half way through when Sheriff had returned, undoubtedly to pester him about that checkup he needed.

Peeking around Mater to get a better look, he was sorely disappointed. It was just the news… and it wasn't even about him and his fight with Chick. He'd never admit it, but he sometimes was a bit of an egocentric.

Shifting on his tires, Flo brought him some oil knowing that he had had a hard day.

Thanking Ramone's wife, he peeked at the television screen. It just looked like it was the news. Apparently, some hotrod had been in a high speed pursuit. Nothing really worth his attention. He was the real speed demon here.

"What's so important? It's just the news. It's not even anything interesting," he grumbled, sinking onto his tires, trying to ignore the green paint smudges on his form.

Flo chuckled and stated in a motherly tone, "Everything's not about you, sugar. Sheriff's is just excited. Spent all night with some old police academy friend, Chief I believe, putting up road blocks and looking for a dangerous vehicle. Right now we are watching the big chase reruns."

"His driving is better than yours, rookie," stated Doc, turning with a grin from his conversation with Sheriff, adding, "That's why you should be watching the news as well. This mad car could give you some pointers, kid."

Lightning's voice gave a little squeak as he rose to defend his honor as a racer, getting closer to the two older vehicles and the television screen to do so, "Look at him swerve madly, and his form's covered in dirt. He's just some mad hobo-car. He doesn't even have headlights."

At that, Doc and Sheriff both raised a brow, knowing a different tale of an idiot driver with no head lights quite well… a living reminder in front of them. Both squinted at the screen, seeing if the helicopter could ever get a spotlight on the vehicle. Were those stickers or just mud? The car had been driving over dirt, smashing through low water-ways and what not else to try and get away. One could just barely make out that there were no license plates… and were those racing tires?

Sheriff whistled, stating in a low tone, "Well, I'll be darn, old Chief has a good eye. I thought he was kidding about the racecar bit last night, but that's a racer, isn't it, Doc?"

"Yeah, a racer that should know better," grumbled Doc as he stared at the screen, wondering who would be dumb enough to pull such a stunt.

…

At the same time, a state or two over when he had gotten home as well, the King had parked with Lynda to confess his sins and the betrayed look in Chick's eyes. She had forgiven him and told him he could have handled that better but it was still handled well. Chick's grandkids would thank the old racer. The two had then cuddled and turned on the television to watch the evening news before he headed for bed, her hubby still tired from last night. It wasn't fairly surprising what was on the news: political scandals, new models, rising gas prices, and the fight between Chick and Lightning.

It was already being voted as the best fight of the season.

One thing for sure, if Chick wasn't already being 'helped' off the track, that little stunt might do it. Most would probably figure he took the time off to hide from the media than for whatever excuse his crew chief was certain to make. Shame the pickup had to lie, but if Chick took the time to heal… it would be acceptable.

Turning his attention back to the news, not wanting to think of how Chick had looked broken when he left, he watched as the newscaster's grew excited. Was there some important news or was it another morning newscast about Chick and Lightning?

He almost changed the channel when the male Saturn and a female Mazda both chuckled, stating, "Good evening and welcome to the evening news, this is Sam and Maddie in the morning. So, I'm sure you are all dying to hear about the Chick and Lightning racetrack scandal…"

"But first," interrupted the Mazda, Maddie, "We have some _important_ news to cover."

The obvious racer fan seemed to wilt, but she continued regardless, a screen in the corner showing a sky view (most likely a helicopter) of a headlight-less car swerving to try and remain out of the spot light, the light barely managing to hit its form for a second here or there.

"Late last night," she added, clearly the more professional of the two, "there was a high speed pursuit in the tri-state area that nearly carried over two states. There have been multiple road blocks set up in the area looking for the perp who remains unidentified. The perp was reported to have hit speeds of one-hundred and thirty or higher at times. Some presume he may have been suicidal given that he did not turn his head lights on and was taking turns at high speeds. During the pursuit, three officers were injured and though they were not seriously hurt, have led to a state wide car hunt."

"Let's take a look at the footage for a moment, shall we?"

Strip watched with mild interest for a moment, disturbed. What could drive a car that far that he would consider trying to kill themselves or for that matter, anyone else, though unintentionally? He shook his hood trying to not note how well the car drove at such a high speed. It almost had a professional grace to it.

"Any information leading to the identity or location of this high speed perp should be reported to your local police," finally added the Mazda.

"In other news," stated the car, looking at her co-host, "Here's Sam's story of the day about… Lightning McQueen and Chick Hicks…"

Strip kind of blocked out the fight, not really caring much, having seen the carnage there. He was more worried about Chick. The boxcar's reaction: or lack therefore of one such as screaming or cursing. Maybe he should call that Marv character and asked about … Chick. Lynda wasn't angry, just upset with him. It would make her happy to know that after such an ultimatum that Strip cared enough to know that he at least checked on Chick. Sighing in resignation, he was about to drive off and find Marv's number and give him a call, yet as soon as a roar escaped his engine… the fight coverage was over and he heard something that made his tank churn.

"Speaking of fight's aftermath… poor Chick, should have taken the insult like a car. I heard that he's in the hospital, intensive care at the moment because of how badly damaged one of his struts were, lost a lot of oil," added the male newscaster, his lips trying to frown though it was obvious he wasn't terribly upset. "His crew chief isn't pointing tires, if it was the race or Lightning, but he states –in a press release this morning- that it is unlikely that Chick will be able to race for a while due to his injures. Huh, I wonder if that translates into: that he won't be racing for the rest of the season?"

"Really, you think it's that bad?" asked the female newscaster, surprised. "I heard he was rushed to the hospital this morning, but do you really think it's that bad?"

The old car's eyes got wide as he paused the screen, Lynda giving him an estranged look as a realization hit him like a ton of bricks. Chick had been a little wobbly, but his strut had been fine. He wasn't leaking or wincing, nothing like the picture of him being hauled into the hospital, and Weather's knew his tire injuries. Chick had been fine… it wasn't Lightning or the track accident.

He hit rewind… and then paused the screen on the high speed pursuit.

The high speed chase.

He knew that driving style.

Knew that frame.

Chick had been the mad driver who had nearly gotten himself and three officers killed last night, hadn't he with those speeds? Strip rarely swore, but right now it felt like the right thing.

He should have known. He should have stayed. Chick was a racer, that's what he did. When scared, he'd resort to what made him feel safe… outrunning the world. He should have stayed, the pickup didn't have the speed to keep up with Chick; he would have.

Now the racer was not only depressed, he was most likely suicidal and his career was probably half dead if he could never drive again.

Lynda pulled away from her husband, frowning. Strip rarely swore and when he did… something bad had happened. Yes, it was a shame that that green racer was hurt, though she would never admit out loud that she didn't like him after what he did to Strip, but why was he swearing? She knew she told him it was wrong to give the depressed car an ultimatum like that, but this accident didn't have anything to do with this, did it?

"What's wrong dear? Why are you so upset?" she asked nuzzling him, regardless that his engine made a hoarse growl.

The anger slowly dripped from his features because of her calming voice, Strip stated, "I should have been a little cautious. I should have at least driven him home. This is partially my fault."

Lynda frowned, asking, "Is this about Chick. I know you feel bad dear… but it's not your fault he got injuries from the race."

"But," he stalled. There was no point in disagreeing with Lynda… she always seemed to be right, even if she was missing some important details. There was no point in worrying her until he was sure though. Giving up on a nonexistent fight, he stated, "I still want to go and see if he's okay. I feel bad and I want to make sure he's doing alright."

She smiled, stating softly, "And that's why I love you dear. You've always had a good heart. Let's get some rest first."

She pecked him on the cheek and turned away towards the bedroom, Weather yipping as he felt a tire slap him the bumper, his wife giggling. Oh, he did love her, and he loved retirement even more because he got to spend so much of his time with her. A love sick smile formed on his face and he followed after.

…

Darkness wasn't always a bad thing.

A little darkness could cause fear and fear promised protection when trying to hide a wounded heart. It also hid the truth and it stains from the light of detection from coarse tires that would reach out and abuse it. It also offered a haven for the mind to rest in, hiding from the lives that pushed the soul so hard until it departed. It also offered a tight shield for the mind when it was in pain… and shivering.

Chick wanted to remain there, it was painful here in the light of the living, and the drugs must have been wearing off.

"Ugh… I need for more vicodin," grumbled Chick as he stirred, causing a silence to fall over the room. He half expected to open his eyes and see his pit crew rushing around him, grumbling just how badly he had wrecked and lost the race.

"I just gave you some a moment ago… it should be kicking in by now."

Yet as he beadily opened his eyes at the strong voice, disturbed that he didn't see a small army of green forklifts rushing around him, but there was just a white and red trail blazer and Marv. He gave the trail blazer an estranged look before he turned his attention back to Marv, asking, "What's going on, Marv? What happened?"

"I tell you what," stated the doctor, an older model, a chiding tone in his voice, "You should have listened to your crew chief last night and had your injuries checkout out immediately after the race. Had to ruin everyone's good clean fun with that fight, didn't you?"

"What crawled up your tailpipe and died?" slurred the car.

The vehicle frowned, stating in a sour tone, "I'm a Strip Weather's fan."

"Figures," grumbled Chick, still a little delirious, before promptly ignoring the doctor and turning his attention to his companion, "How'd I get here…it's a bit blurry."

"Ken brought you," almost growled his chief, anger in his undertones telling the racer that that the semi had undoubtly told the pickup how he exactly got his injuries… Or at least aggravated them to this point that he had to be in a hospital, if the red crosses on the blazer were any indication.

"Oh…" still ignoring his doctor that had come to check his vitals. "So… what's the diagnosis. How long am I going to be laid up? I know it's not my season but…"

The doctor sighed, stern features slowly leaving his face. He turned his attention to Marv, asking, "Do you want to break the news, or shall I?"

Marv seemed to wilt at this and Chick's form became tight. This… was not good. If Marv seemed so downtrodden… then… then. How bad was it?

Turning his attention to his doctor, he asked, "Well?"

Not even a tint of satisfaction in his face, because no one wished such a fate on a racer, the medic stated, "Chick… depending on how well you rehabilitated. You may or may not be able to race again. That strut really…. Ripped you up."

XXX

Paw07: Yep, I'm a cliffhanger whore. Mmmmm. Regardless, we got a little Strip/Lynda time (old people love, is there anything more adorable) and I might start hinting at the second movie if I ever find anyone to go see it with. Ugg, why are all my friends too adult to want to go to a Pixar film…


	8. Hide and Seek

Chapter 8: Hide and Seek

The last two days had been hard. Harder than Marv and the rest of the crew could imagine. At first, Chick had been quiet, frighteningly so, and then after hearing about his rehabilitation he just snapped and the five stages of grief quickly made themselves known.

Denial: was apparently his quiet phase, he still wasn't able to accept he had hurt himself that badly… until the damage was fully described.

Anger: this is when his quiet stage broke, everything within reach, almost one of the forklifts as well, was thrown around in a rage filled fit promptly before firing his Strip-loving doctor.

Bargaining: once there was nothing left to throw, Chick then considered converting to three different religions… and an illegal parts dealer before Marv managed to wrestle away the telephone.

Depression: was the hardest stage. Chick had denied all guests, even family. It was hard to be a friend listening from the other side of the door as the green car wept.

Acceptance: in the end, part of Chick acknowledged that he was injured badly, but the doctor had not been lying… his recovery did depend on him. So, he stopped throwing things at the doctors, if just barely. Or it could have had something to do with the fact that everything was now out of his reach.

Chick grunted as he tried to reach from his perch on the ramps he was raised on. It was just … out… of … his …reach.

Grunting in defeat, his tire went limp and he just hung there, conquered and bored. This was unbearable. He had been hanging here for nearly three days. Yes, most of those days he was either far too emotional to care or was half drugged or sedated. Now, they had considered him calm enough not to be sedated, and the pain deadeners no longer had to be so strong…

He needed to whine more apparently to have the really good stuff.

Another mighty sigh escaping him, Chick glared at the TV remote. Little monsters… all of them: the forklifts. Little slaggers. They kept changing the channel and never allowed him to have the remote… even when they weren't here!

Swearing some colorful words, the box car closed his eyes and shifted. Maybe he should pretend to be resting and then he might really want to rest. Not that he had done much else lately. At least pretending to sleep allowed him to ignore characters like Lance.

Now that was a conversation he was going to put off as long as he could.

Speaking of which… someone was at his door. He immediately pretended to be resting, lids closing and mustache twitching like he was told he did in his sleep. Well, at least he didn't talk in his sleep. Regardless, why was anyone here? He had requested no visitors… and was willing to go to great lengths just in case one snuck in. Case in point: bad acting.

The doors swinging open, a parade of balloons and a green truck bed entering the room along with an annoyed voice, "You can stop pretending, Chick. It's just the gift fairy."

"And his little elves," snicker one of the forklifts as the small army entered carrying their own loads of flowers and other varying gifts.

Chick opened one eye to see if it was a trap. Deciding it wasn't, he opened both his eyes and huffed shaking his hood at the parade of balloons and other trinkets in Marv's truck bed which was promptly distributed to the floor, the forklifts gathering around and making piles.

Wow. It seemed that he did have fans… or maybe this stuff was all from murderers.

Chuckling to himself at the paranoid thought as he wiggled his tires from his elevated prison, Chick asked, "Got any bombs in there?"

"One can only wish," replied the pickup as he slumped at Chick's ramp-side, going low on his tires as he added, "It would at least be a quick end. This is unbearable. Everyone you've ever hated acts like they want to talk to me, support you by sending gifts and things, and you can't even insult them to their face because you're… helpless."

The forklifts all shared a glance as the youngest quickly asked Arty, "I thought there was only one depression stage to grief. I can't take no more crying."

"I'm not going to cry!" growled the green car, blinking back the tears that wanted to be brought into existence just at the thought. "I just want off this lift."

Marv, who had been picking through some mail, turned his gaze to the pile of goodies that Taz was making and eyeing rather hungrily. Looking away from the team's most paranoid and slightly unbalanced member, the truck stated, "Oh, come on. They said the welding took as well as the new parts. They said you'd at least be let down so you to limp around for a little bit today… like an old car with plastic bumper guards and everything I'm sure."

Chick's depression turned into a hard set glare, Marv knowing far too well he was going to get said reaction. Ignoring said glare, he turned his attention to the pile again, "Besides, there are more than enough oil-goodies. The sweets can at least falsify feelings of happiness for a while."

Grunting his engine, feeling the pessimistic side of Marv raise its ugly head and kill his own, he pouted, "Anything good?"

Driving around the goods in the middle of the floor, minding the pile of cards and flowers on either side, he pulled out one box in particular, "Well, we got some Carson Cola. The flowers that came with it say, 'an old family friend'."

Chick stuck out his tongue a little, stating, "I haven't like Carson Cola in a long time…" since _my brother died with that paint job on,_ "since I tried to drink a lifetime supply in one summer and was sick for a month."

Marv laughed and settled with opening the other packages, the cola still setting there promising to be drank as he chirped, "And how, per say, did you get a hold of a life time supply of Carson Cola as a youth?"

Not wanting to mention his past, having far too much of it come to the surface lately, he stated, "My brother… won it."

"... Your brother? I didn't know you had a brother. You never talk about him," added Marv, a cryptic look covering his face as his gaze met Chick's, only to have Chick look away as if ashamed. The forklifts noticed this as well and the treasure hunt through meaningless packages stalled for everyone.

"… Do you not get along or something? Want me to call him?" asked Marv, prying in the most innocent way he could. He remembered the picture that Chick had guarded so fiercely when he had been moving. Now it seemed a little light was about to be showered down on the issue.

Swallowing, he swung his tires for a moment as if the words were painful to comprehend or even too mutter, but the past had been crawling up on him lately. There was no point in denying it.

"No. We got along great. He was my idol," stated Chick in almost a whisper, the words so painful he nearly hiccup in sorrow having held that pain as a guarded secret for so long. "He passed away… a long time ago."

The forklifts went stiff and Marv frowned. They had seen him crying the other day, but this seemed deeper, raw and infected like an oozing wound. His breakdown from earlier had been over physical pain and depression. This was a deep set sorrow… one you had to deal with carefully.

"What was his name?" asked Marv, ignoring the glare he got from Arty, the oldest member on the team and far more sensitive about such emotional things. When you had a sin to confess or needed a skid plate to cry on… you went to Arty. He had three grandkids and a good wife; he knew how to deal with these things and he did not approve of Marv's obvious prying. His glare was completely obvious.

"Well… his name was... Chase, and I haven't thought of him in a long time."

The other's seemed to sink back, uncertain about what to say. Arty actually came forward, ready to speak, but stalled when the sound of an engine stalled in front of the door.

"Mr. Hicks," came a request outside of the door, a much younger and slightly nervous VW queered as he peeked in. He was Chick's new doctor and far more pleasant if one ignored the nervous twitch. He hadn't been very good at dodging during Chick's fits but at least was good enough not to up and quit. Apparently, Marv had appealed to the doctor's good side for empathy.

"Oh," said the young doctor as he eyed the piles of gifts and the noticeable… guests. "I thought you were requesting no visitors. Well, that's good. A very … um, _uppity_ fellow has been requesting to see you all day."

Chick knew uppity was the good doctor's way of saying 'rude' and thus that translated to 'Lance'.

"These are my family. They don't translate into 'guests'. So no, I'm still not taking any," grumbled Chick as he reached for one of the oil treats that one of the forklifts had in their grasp, to busy eying the doctor to notice that Chick was about to steal his treat.

Dr. BB, as the forklift's had nicknamed him, shifted nervously before he replied, "You have a rather _varied_ family, don't you?"

"Sure do. So… no guests and can I get down," whined Chick, all of a sudden, forgetting the treat he was trying to steal from one of his unsuspecting forklifts. "I need to take a leak."

BB was silent for a moment and then stated, "Well, let me send in a nurse to help you down. You can be down for a few minutes, maybe an hour or two, but if it starts to ache I want you back on that lift."

"Sure, yes, yes! Anything, I'm going stir crazy," added Chick, almost childishly, making the young doctor smile.

"Alright, I'll send someone by to let you down and I'll inform your … guest… that you are not feeling up to his company right now," added the yellow VW Bug as he smiled and left the strange family to their games.

…

His tires squeaked as he stalled in front of the Hospital, Lakeworth. Strip had meant to get there sooner but he was here now. It had only been a few days; hopefully, Chick had healed some in that time. Yet, just as soon as he entered the waiting room, ready to go to the nurses' desk and ask for Chick's room number, before he even got there he noticed a very angry Viper rear up and start yelling at a little yellow VW.

"What do you mean Chick isn't accepting guests yet! I know for a fact that his crew has been in and out of that room for the last few days. Why can they go in? I'm his Sponsor," hissed Lance, his face losing its usual cool visage.

The yellow bug sighed and stated, "Family is different… and he said they are family. I'm sorry. I can give him a message if you want?"

Lance frowned, shook his hood and stated, "Tell him we need to _talk_. The Press wants to know how exactly he procured those _injuries_."

The young doctor nodded and watched as the powerful car drove off towards the cafeteria. His form shivered a little before he disappeared around a corner, grumbling.

King slowly pulled away from the nurses' desk. They had just heard the whole fight and would know automatically to say no to him. Well, he came here to do something and he was going to complete his mission. He had promised Lynda… and himself.

Turning towards the hall that the little yellow bug had went, the blue car hoped that the smaller vehicle would lead him straight to Chick's room with the message from his sponsor. It seemed though that the car wandered off to another patient, a smiled forced as the door shut behind him.

The racer stalled there, in the middle of the hallway, kind of feeling like a dolt. Now he had no idea where to go and he didn't want to look like a senile patient having wandered out of his room. Shifting on his tires, the old car tried to decide his next move. He didn't want to be too obvious and who knew how many patients the doctor would check on before getting back to Hicks. Shaking his hood, he started down the hall thinking nothing of the candy striped Eclipse he passed until she dropped the medicine she had been carrying and stated, "Oh my, it's the King!"

Stalling, a bit shocked, he slowly put on a warming smile always ready to be courteous to a fan; that was why he had so many loyal fans. Or so he liked to believe.

Taking on a warm tone, he stated, "That's my name, don't wear it out."

The candy stripper smiled, giggling as she asked, "Oh, I won't. It's so great to meet you. I always tried to go to any race that you were at in the area. Too bad there won't be anymore, but at least you're enjoying retirement, right?"

Strip nodded, noting how hard she was trying not to freak out and be casual. She was failing miserably with her rant, but he was at least gracious that she wasn't the squealing type of fan. He just nodded as she continued, practically gushing.

"Anyway," finally coming to the end of her rant, she added, "So what are you doing here, Mr. King? You seem lost? I-I know everything here. Do you need help?"

He was about to say 'no' and be on his way. After all, he doubted he'd just be told where Chick would be, given his sponsor couldn't even get inside. Seemed only his crew had been able to get in for the past two days, but the old racer was determined to talk to the other racer especially since he should have stuck around and made sure Chick was okay. He should have known that if Chick wanted to run from his problems and now he was probably crippled for life.

He had to talk to him… he never liked to abuse his title or popularity, but there was no harm in some friendly and informative banter.

Smiling and swinging his head like an elderly, good humored gentleman, he stated, "Well, it shames me to say … that I am lost. I came to see an old friend, but I forgot the room number. It was like 112 or 232 or something with a two," he chuckled, "I'm afraid retirement has not only made my tires dull, but my memory as well."

The candy stripper smiled warmly and stated, "Well, be not ashamed. I will assist you today. Who are you looking for?"

His smile faded and he stated, "Well, I know many people might be surprised but I'm looking for Chick Hicks. I hold no ill spite toward him," he stated, catering her weary expression, "I just want to talk to him about serious injuries. I know it's a hard time for him… and I thought it best if we talk."

She blinked as if surprised and for a moment he thought she was going to say no with her worried gaze before she looked side to side like a snitch and added, "That's so kind of you, Mr. Weathers. I know he's hiding from even his sponsor. I almost feel bad for him… I heard him crying the other day. The poor pickup was just distraught when I drove by."

She looked around again and bit her bottom lip before adding, "Which is why I'll tell you. It's room 332. Good luck and thanks."

He blinked, surprised that she had thanked him and despite himself he stated, "For what?"

A smile so genuine it would melt any heart's hate, "For being the hero I admired as a little girl. You are a good car, someone worth admiration."

She then turned and left, disappearing into a room like nothing more than a warm memory, a ghost of accomplishment. His heart almost imploding with a tightness, his whole life suddenly seeming meaningful. He had touched another being… without even knowing it, aspiring passion and good will.

Perhaps… he could do it once more today.

Feeling a little less angry, he continued to smile as he turned around. He knew he should feel bad about taking advantage of her kindness like that, but he had a feeling she would understand that he had to do this: confronting Chick… or one of his forklifts.

The turn had revealed a green forklift in front of a coolant cooler, Dixie-can sloshing as he readied himself to take a sip. Then, as if feeling someone staring at him out of the corner of his eye, slowly those big golden orbs rose to meet the old racer's gaze.

For a moment, the two of them stared at each other, both slowly looking down the hall that was conveniently placed between them … it was also the hall that just happened to lead down towards Chick's room. Slowly, they met eyes again as if they both knew what was going to happen today.

Chick was going to get an aft chewing… unless the forklift got there first and saved his companion. This place was big enough, there was no doubt that Chick could hide with ease or at least get the King thrown out by security. Throwing his can, growling like a wild beast, Taz the forklift lived up to his namesake and hissed, "You'll never take any of us alive!"

He then proceeded to push the coolant dispenser over, splashing the floor and part of the King's grill with the blue stuff before driving down the hall like a bat out of hell.

Still for a moment, the old racer wondered for a second what had just happened before shaking his hood and yelling down the hall at the retreating green form, "Chick and I need to talk! I know what happened out on the highway and I'm not at all happy about it!"

The mentally questionable forklift, who seemingly had turned the corner and was off to warn his master, suddenly jumped back around the corner and cried, "Ye will never take us alive!"

Trying to repress a smile, the blue vehicle slowly stepped around the downed drink dispenser trying not to laugh at the irony of it. In the forklift's retreat he actually left a trail or coolant... a trail of bread crumbs as older cars use to say, though Weathers wasn't quite sure what a bread crumb even was.

Meanwhile, unknowingly leaving a path, Taz nearly made a spinout as he slammed into the room, doors flapping in and out for a moment before he was able to catch his vents and cry, "Strip Weathers is down the hall!"

All the jubilation seemed to die, along with Chick's approving mood as he had finally been let down.

"… and from what I understand, he knows about what happened on the highway!"

Marv, who had been opening a can of Carson Cola, which was now fizzing onto the floor unnoticed, swallowed, "Are you sure? How could he? The cops didn't even… I mean only the crew knew because of Ken's big mouth… but… are you sure?"

Everyone, unused to the apprehensive display from their crew chief immediately all started to drive around like headless cars, panicking. Chick even started eyeing the window, a deep dread settling in his tank. He didn't know why he should even be afraid of the old coot, but a part of him had always known, even on the racetrack, that Weathers was a powerful force.

A legend amongst national heroes. Weather's could ruin him.

"I'd rather not find out," grumbled Chick as he limped to the door and peaked out. He immediately noticed the gleam of coolant leading a trail down the hall, and then he heard the powerful grumble of a racing engine echo down the hall as well. He knew it was a useless action, that sooner or later that a car with as much pull as Weathers could arrange a meeting, but he couldn't deal with this today. He was in pain, he was growing evermore depressed as his career went farther and farther down the drain, and as far as a part of him was concerned: Strip Weathers was partially to blame for all of this.

… And Lightning McQueen, but that was a given.

But, back to Strip, he had bumped the car thousands of times and never, never, had Strip spun out that bad like at his last race. Perhaps age had finally caught up to him on that last race, causing that accident, but it didn't matter. All that mattered was denying the pain for a little longer… pride was a cruel catalyst.

"Wooh, wooh, Chick, get back here! You are in no condition to be driving, even down the hall," griped Marv, finally coming to his senses as the green racer started to limp out into the hall. "The nurse said you could drive around the room, not run down the halls!"

"Well, then help me hide," hissed Chick, almost childishly.

Shaking his hood, knowing how hard it would be for Chick to mentally withstand a sly and elder character like Strip, he stated to the forklifts, "You guys distract Strip for a little while."

Then, before Chick could even thank him, Marv had his front bumper under Chick's back one to take pressure off the new strut and started to push rather vigorously, Chick squealing as they suddenly went sliding out into the hall like an out of control rollercoaster… Marv actually laughing as they went sliding down halls. They were barely a corridor or two away when Strip slid into the door to Chick's room, brow raised as he watched a small group of forklifts pointing cans of Carson Cola at him. All of them had a wicked smile and it only took a moment to realize that those can were shaken up, foam and thinned oily goodness suddenly all over his wind shield with a popping sound.

He didn't even have the time to feel upset as they all rushed passed him, laughing or whispering a soft sorry.

For a moment he was still, as if a volcano was about to erupt. Something sure erupted, alright: a laugh, deep and ringing. Well, it seemed this had suddenly turned into a child's game and coming out of the room, covered in cola, Strip was half tempted to call down the halls, "Ready or not Chick, here I come!"

Yet, even with Marv chuckling like a teenager getting caught smoking in the bathroom and running for it, panting, the humor did not last. It seemed their noisy little entourage caught the attention of not only Chick's doctor, BB, who was yelling down the hall to stop, but a very irritated sports car.

Lance's eyes became a glare as he started down the way, following the skid marks to where Chick and his crew chief surely stalled. There humor would not last long if he had anything to do with it. No, he hadn't gotten his place in the Hostile Taker Over Bank for his charity… but for his wicked silver tongue. It ruined lives… it had crushed careers and hearts like nothing more than pebbles under his times.

XXX

Paw07: I was going to write the conversation between Lance, Chick and Marv, but with its content, I decided it deserved its own chapter. Let's just say we get to see a real antagonist for once. Lance isn't working for the Hostile Takeover Bank for nothing you know. Regardless, hope you enjoined this chapter. Personally, when I grow old, I hope one day to have someone tell me that I inspired them…


	9. A Snake's Silver Tongue

Note: There's an **OC** list at the bottom of the chapter for your convenience.

Chapter 9: A Snake's Silver Tongue

"I tell yah, he's trying to replace me, Roy," said Sheriff, driving silently next to his old academy buddy as Chief tried to eye where the oil trail was leading to. "That's why I came here to assist you with your investigation of the Mad-Racer as the news is callin' him. Doc keeps asking about my health and about hiring rookies and even has McQueen badgering me. I can't even get a full nap in my favorite spot because one car or another is botherin' me."

Sheriff suddenly stalled, Tim and Victor nearly rear-ending him as the old enforcer murmured, "I think he's trying to get me to retire. He probably even has a new sheriff set up. He just wants to put me out to pasture to rust."

Chief stalled and turned to look at his old training buddy, murmuring, "You are being paranoid, Mark. I've only met Doc a few times over the years, but you two have always seemed like really good friends … Despite the spats you two have about checkups that is."

"He has tires like a yeti," grumbled Sheriff as the small group continued forward, trying to pick up on the oil trail that had been beaten into the earth or disturbed by other passing vehicles. And from the looks of it, one of those passing vehicles was even a semi, which was way above the weight restrictions for this dirt road.

"So you've said … many, _many_ times," said Chief, throwing a glare at Jim and Victor as the two deputies chuckled behind him. "But he does have a point. The population is no longer twelve in Radiator Springs, Mark. Some help might not be a bad thing. I know this one candidate that's a motorcycle from …"

Chief words died in his mouth as Sheriff's glare seemed to bore into his soul. The stare so intense that Jim and Victor actually backed up.

Giving a weary grin, not wanting the other to explode into a rant, his eyes wandered back to the road as he blurted out, "Oh, look at that … the oil trail is leading into that abandon drive-in movie theatre. Let's go that way."

Then pulling forward, Chief almost sighed when one of the deputies took attention off his back.

"Nice! Maybe he ran out of gas and is still hiding here," said Tim with a grin as he bounced forward and into the grassy lot, weeds and small trees having long since started to devour the old ruins.

Giving Chief one more glare, Sheriff pulled in front of the other offered and grumbled, "Not nice, rookie. We are more likely to find a dead car than a living one. I know it might just look like droplets but if he has been sitting there for a few days … he could have bled to death."

Tim stalled, giving Sheriff a nervous grin that was reminiscent of McQueen's. "Oh … wonderful, just … wonderful."

"Calm down rookie, I doubt he's here anymore," said Chief as he drove forward, following the heavy tracks through the grass until he came to a small overhang, frowning deeply at the puddle of oil in the grass. "Something large like a semi came in here. Must have picked up on the oil trail before we did. Probably a good thing too."

"Well dang," said Sheriff as he drove up next to his friend. "Now that's a serious injury."

The two deputies followed after. Tim looked pale while Victor merely looked bored, the two staring at the puddle of oil. Tim seemed disturbed by the puddle as he choked, "Y-yeah … t-that's a lot of oil."

"It definitely is. This kind of injury definitely needed a hospital stay. We should start calling around, seeing if anyone came in with a lot of oil loss in the last few days," murmured Chief as he eyed the area, looking for clues before adding, "Or the morgues."

"M-morgues," choked Tim, suddenly looking paler.

Victor, basically born and bred into a family of cops, gave the rookie a look as he asked, "Don't tell me a little spilled oil is making you queasy. What if we found a body?"

Tim looked sicker than ever, Chief throwing a warning back at his older deputy, "Stop it Skids. He's still fresh out of the academy. No one handles their first body well."

"Well, at least finding a body here would have been better then picking pieces off the road from some poor fellow that rolled. A bumper here, an alternator there, a side mirror … the entire engine," continued Victor, as he threw his hood back and forth in an exaggerated manner as both Chief and Sheriff turned to glare at him.

Jones, for his part, could take no more and suddenly a ralphing noise filled the expanse, the young car moaning as his breakfast came up twice. Luckily, he hadn't been too close to anyone at the time. Victor took this time to merely look pleased with himself though, and Chief had to close his eyes and breathe to stall himself from exploding at the other.

Then, only once he was able to speak calmly, did Chief turn to Sheriff, stating simply, "I take that back. Rookies, deputies for that matter, are more pain than they are worth. You keep fighting Doc because the rookies will send you to you grave faster than any hotrod you have to chase down."

Sheriff could only chuckle in response, glad that Chief had to agreed with him, laughing all out when Chief told Victor to drive Tim home and then start calling all the morgues and hospitals … by himself. Strangely, Victor seemed to take it in stride.

…

Marv panted as they came to a halt in what looked like an old observation room turned storage, a few covered machines in a corner. Slowly, he placed Chick's back bumper down and chuckled as he slowly drove back to the door and shut it. He gave Chick, who despite having run away from a car that was as threatening as a grandpa was smiling, a bored look.

"You know this is terribly childish and when BB finds us … well … I doubt he's anything like the flower-cars that I met in the seventies. He's going to have a fit and probably tie you to that ramp. It's back to solitary to you, prisoner."

Chick, who was noticeably leaning on his other tires to take weight off the newly replaced part, shrugged and stated, "Prisoner, patient: same thing."

"Well… except for the orange paint. Not that green is much better," mocked the truck. "My girl at the time… how she mocked me. I think that's why we broke up. Green just clashed with her raspberry color. She wanted orange. Guess I should have become a criminal."

Laughing at the light hearted mood that still survived the chase, Chick felt that since last year's Piston Cup that this was one of his happiest moments. It was like he was a child again, hiding from adults as he tried to hold onto his innocence. Unfortunately, the world always caught up to you… even in a dusty room hidden from seemingly all the world.

The two were growing far more serious as old laughs, turned into old memories and then in turn: turned into old sorrows.

Lightly smiling, though seemingly sadder after the last discussion about Marv's predecessor who had long since retired, the pickup asked, "So… tell me about this brother of yours, Chase. I want to know about this car, this idol of yours."

Chick, whose eyes were half masted slowly widened and he couldn't help but frown. He never took his gaze away from his old friend as he stated, "You don't want to talk about that. Instead, let me tell you about this sexy little convertible that…"

"No," interrupted Marv with a stern voice. "Chick, tell me about your brother. I need to know about your brother. This person that you idolized because I'm starting to feel like I don't know you anymore. I've been trying to be a good friend. I have been trying really, really, hard but the more this year drags out the more I feel as if we aren't friends because friends are supposed to know things about each other."

Marv almost seemed to be shaking with rage or desperation as he stated, "So tell me about your brother."

Mustache twitching, Chick didn't know if he should be upset or enraged or _ashamed_. His rock, Marv, was cracking. The pick-up was one of his oldest and most loyal friends. His crew chief deserved to know about what was going on, but his throat constricted at the very thought of talking about his brother.

It was an old shame, not in his sibling but in himself. Chick hadn't told anyone, no one, why he strived to win, to race, to rise to the occasion, but … but…

The thought of losing Marv stung and made a darkness creep deep into his engine. Losing the pickup would be like being left alone in the dark, monsters all around you. It would be like his brother died all over again.

Sinking on his tires, unwilling to look the other vehicle in the eye, Chick's voice shook a little as he started to speak, "Chase… was my brother and he was my idol. He was a few years older than me and he was my everything, seemingly my only family. Apparently, my mom was too busy making ends meet and dad was a washed up dreamer who thought little of me. I just added strain to an already strained budget."

Chick bared his teeth for a moment in disgusted and rage. It wasn't a widely known fact but Chick had to crawl up the ladder. He came from a place of little wealth, a dusty farm hidden in an offshoot part of the Midwest.

"I cannot recall my father ever saying he loved me. I tried so hard, struggled, but my father only had love for Chase. And I might have been jealous of my brother… if he wasn't so good to me. He was more than a brother to me. He... he gave me all the affection and support my dad never did. He helped me study, taught me how to race and even when he became a famous racer, he supported me at all my first races."

Swallowing, feeling a bitter emptiness, "He was my hero. For the longest time…"

The next words were the hardest, a bitter admittance of how foolish and blind he had been as a youth. "I still thought only of my dad. He had been a great racer, nothing highly professional, but he was so proud of Chase and his racing so I did the same thing thinking I'd gain his attention, his affection. Chase was the one paying attention though. My old man… didn't care."

A choked hiccup escaped him as the green car struggled to speak, emotions pressing into his engine in a suffocating manner, "Y-you know what they say. You don't know what you got until its gone."

It hung in the air, like two tires already off a cliff before Marv decided to take the leap and stated, "He died on the track, didn't he?"

Shaking his hood, swallowing harshly, Chick found he couldn't state it, couldn't whisper how he recalled the mangled metal and the death of his closest family member. For some reason, he thought that the Piston Cup would have fulfilled a longing, a glow of pride one was supposed to get when they got a trophy. Perhaps he would even be able to impresses his father and everyone that doubted him … Maybe even honor his brother.

In truth, since he started professional racing, he hadn't once been able to completely grasp that feeling of fulfillment one gets when winning. He just felt all the more hungry. His mind constantly reminded that his brother had died due to his selfish greed.

He knew that part of those feelings were a delusion that a part of his mind had created for comfort, but he believed it none the less that the Piston Cup would make something better. And for some reason he found himself whispering his secret hope aloud, now that someone was listening … just like Chase used to.

"For some reason," whispered Chick, his voice weak. "A part of me always felt that if I could win the trophy, that stupid Piston Cup, I would regain a moment of happiness that only existed when I was around my brother, striving for the prize, and he would be alive with me."

Feeling that there were a lot more psychological issues here then he thought and that he needed to find Chick a good psychiatrist, Marv instinctively stated, "Chick… a trophy can't be bring a dead car back to life. Its im-"

"Impossible," cut off the racer, "I know, but … still. I-I just want to make him proud … which sounds even dumber out loud because how can you make a dead car proud? You simply _can't_."

A tear rolling out of one his eyes, a dam starting to break from all the stress, Chick admitted, "I can never earn his forgiveness and now he's haunting me."

Marv's face gained a horror-filled expression, his belief in spirits a matter known by all the other team members. One day, a few years ago, he came in near hysterics to the team talking about a _white lady_ (and not a white car lady) on the side of the road that had asked for a ride. After he was mocked continually for a few weeks, he stopped mentioning it, but it was obvious that he was in no mood for ghost stories.

Chick killed Marv's thought at its root as he stated, "Not literally it's just … it's just… memories that won't remain buried."

He struggled to stall the tear that threatened to fall, bottling the misery back up where it was supposed to be. A tiny little glass sphere inside his soul, hidden at the bottom. Not that he would be able to contain it for long if he did. That little glass sphere inside his mind was slowly cracking, memories bleeding through like forgotten ghosts that refused to be silent.

"Memories of him are crawling to the surface and each one … each one feels like a punishment telling me that I've failed him somehow. I-I can't take much more," choked Chick. The car taking in a shaky breath as he finally admitted the catalyst to all of his problems. "The thoughts are too painful and I feel like they are getting longer and that I'm having trouble getting out of them. I-it's like a punishment."

He made no show to hide his fears, the racer allowing Marv to lean up against him in a comforting manner.

Marv was silent for a while, patting the other's tire, digesting what his racer had said and the silence that existed with it before he asked, "There's more… isn't there? Something terrible happened with Chase or your father, didn't it?"

Sniffing, eyes damp, Chick swallowed roughly before he added, "I've given you enough secrets today, Marv. I'm … I'm not ready to dig up that last grave. Can't we just go back to me room, my axel is really starting to ache."

Wilting a little but more than satisfied with a bit of truth, the green truck nodded and nudged the other in a comforting and slightly pushy matter, stating, "Then let's get you back to your prison cell. I'm sure BB's blown a gasket looking for you. There should be a rag around here for … your eyes and we'll talk about this later when you are feeling better. Confessing sorrows is not a weak thing so stop thinking it is one, Chick. That's what friends are for."

Nodding softly, his tears quickly hidden, Marv nudged his friend once more in a far more comforting manner than usually and slowly opened the door, not noticing, even for a moment, the blue shadow that had been up in the observatory part of the surgery room. There was even a soft roar of an engine as the car started to pull back, only to stall when an angry voice caused the two observees to jump and backup as a sports car slammed into the room, huffing and puffing.

"There you are!" roared a very enraged Lance turning the corner, his glossy paint job giving a sickening gleam in the dull lighting as he stated, "And I'd be careful with my words if I were you, Chick. The discussion we have here and now will decide if you will be sponsored by us for another day or not, because I doubt anyone would want a cheater… not to mention a questionable _cripple_ racing for them?"

Chick felt his engine sink especially when Marv threw a hard glare at the Viper.

"Are you threatening him? I _knew_ something shifty was going on, but if you are forcing him to do something to keep his job, I swear to …"

"Silence Marv," said Chick suddenly, doing it more for the sake of Marv's future employment then his because there was a probability he wouldn't have another season. "What do you want Lance? I've been doing as you ask. I try to stay towards the middle of the crowd. If anything, an injury is a great look for an underdog."

Marv, a horrified expression on his face though a part of him had sort of suspected it, murmured, "You've been throwing the races? Chick, if the Racing Board finds out … you could be ruined."

"Not right now, Marv," growled Chick as he set a hard glare at his sponsor. "Will there be anything else today?"

"Yes," growled the sponsor as he eyed the still dinged and dented wreck. "What are you going to tell the press about your current injuries? Hostile Takeover needs to have some advertisement that isn't negative, Chick. You have been more trouble than you are worth this season and it is quiet questionable if we should start looking for up and coming rookies."

His crew chief looked insulted but before Marv could speak, Chick spoke again, "I'll tell the press that I aggravated the wounds driving home, went into the ditch and passed out." It wasn't technically a lie. "I'll have Marv tell the press later today if you want."

Lance sat there a moment, low on his back tires before he laughed sarcastically. "What? That's it? No one is going to care about a little ditch accident. We need something juicy … something that will allow Hostile Takeover to have a little lime light. In fact," Lance's voice took on a dark tone, "You should blame the wound aggravation on the accident … and McQueen. Oh, I could see the headlines for that."

"What?" choked Chick, part of him not believing what he had just heard? "I am not saying a rookie, who has never been in a real brawl until then, damaged me! I have some pride Lance."

Lance, lip twitching, got into Chick's personal space, poking the other on the hood as he growled, "Well, suck up your pride than because if you don't put a positive spin on this little accident of yours … well, what's the point of keeping a car that can't race for the rest of the season?"

Then, seeming to regain some of his cool now that he had raged his opinion on the matter, Lance coolly murmured, "This is strictly business, of course, Chick. Don't take it too personally. Hostile Takeover is your sponsor so it can advertise itself. If not for yourself at least think of your crew for the rest of the season … especially if that wound keeps you out for too long."

Marv looked horrified at Lance's words, like he had been punched in the oil pan, his mouth dry as he murmured, "You can't be serious? If Rust-ezes found out we were trying to slander their racer … there would be consequences."

"And Chick's willing to take those consequences, _aren't you_ Chick?" said Lance smoothly as he started to back up, his usual cool mask replaced like some kind of monster just pretending to be a car. Chick always knew Lance was a hard businessman, but when it came to his personality … sometimes Chick wondered who the real 'Lance' was. He wore so many faces.

Swallowing, knowing all too well that everyone on the crew had family in one form or another that depended on them (especially Larry and his little girl that was the truest definition of a lemon since she needed parts replaced constantly), he nodded even though Marv had just given him a horrified look, "I understand, sir. I will try to put a spin on it to protect and promote the company."

Lance merely smiled, "I still say you would have made a good businessman, Chick. Now, I recommended you head back to your room … We can't have any of the press catching you up and about when you were so _seriously_ injured."

"Yes … sir," said Chick, his form shaking in rage even Lance left.

Meanwhile, Weathers who had been watching the entire exchange for the beginning up in the observation deck, couldn't decide if he was horrified or angry. The whole season, Chick had been sabotaging his own racing and now they were going to drag McQueen's name into the dirt? Plus, he was obviously in the reins of some kind of physiological break that related back a dead sibling. He felt bad for Chick. Really he did. The boxcar was under a lot more stress than he could possibly imagine, but that didn't mean Chick was going to get away with slander

Strip decided he was going to put an end to this charade … as soon as he figured out how to get down. He had gotten turned around when chasing Chick and he still had no idea where he was.

"Maybe I am becoming senile," grumbled Weathers as he turned around, his mind returning back to Lance. He really, really, did not like that guy and even though Chick deserved to be reported to the Racing Board, he respected how well Chick handled that. As he now recalled … Hostile Takeover never kept any of its drivers more than a season until Chick came along. Chick had kept that sponsor for years.

Regardless, maybe they weren't a very good sponsor if they required you to be a cheat if only to keep on the track. Strip knew a sponsor anyway … someone that would just love to speak with Chick again.

XXX

Paw07: Ummmm … I have no excuses for the long wait. Life and what-not I suppose. I'd be surprised if anyone still watches this. Regardless, I finished a different fic so I decided to try and pick this back up. It is one I think fondly of, and yes … there was a lot of talking in this chapter, and Victor and Chick would totally get along great. Next chapter's up on Friday.

**OC List:**

Chase Chicks: is a black 1980's Oldsmobile-Cutlass with red accents, was Chick's older brother and a racer. His death is cause for much unrest though the details or his death have not been mentioned.

Danny Dunes: is an orange racer for Demmy Duke's Paints. He chat's briefly with Chick after the accident in chapter 3. He is hit again and his condition is still not revealed.

Henry Carson: is a red 1955 Cadillac who owns Carson-Cola Oils. He was Chase's sponsor.

Jebb: is a deputy that works with Chief O'Reily's department. He loves his spikes.

Jimmy Jones: a police deputy that started chasing Chick in chapter 6. He is a rookie and a dodge charger.

Ken: is a Kenworth semi that is Chick's driver. He is considered to be a big softy and is one of the calmer members of Chick's crew.

Lance: is a white Viper with yellow stripes. He is Chick's Sponsor for Hostile Takeover.

Larry: is one of Chick's forklifts. He has a daughter that is apparently a 'lemon' and depends on his job to support her.

Manton Hicks: is a 1969 Pontiac Firebird and Chick's father. He became an alcoholic after Chase's death and was emotionally abusive towards Chick.

Marv: is a pickup that is Chick's crew chief. He is old friends with Chick and a voice of reason that Chick will listen to most of the time.

Roy (Chief) O'Reily: a county sheriff and Jimmy Jone's superior and is old buddies with Sheriff from their rookie days.

Slick Hemming: a dead racer mentioned from time to time, which died on the track due to his depressive state, his daughter's death instigating his depression.

Taz: is one of Chick's forklifts, who, apparently owns a blowgun, but is most renowned for his tall tales. He love's sweets and is more than a little 'mad'.

Victor Skids: is a Crown Victorian Police Interceptor. He is an officer under Chief O'Reily.


	10. Deal Breaker

Chapter 10: Deal Breaker

"My rims hurrttttt. I think my tires are about to fall off," whined Lightning as he drove around the track for what had to be the thousandth time for the fourth day in a row, his paint covered in dust and green smudges. "I can't feel them. Come on Doc, it's been … What? A week since Chick instigated that fight. Can't I just hang out with Mater for a while? You know he has to be walked or he gets hyperactive."

Doc continued to sit on the sidelines of the dirt track, looking unimpressed as he murmured at his rookie, "As I recall it was you that instigated that fight, and it's only been four days."

"Four days of hell," grumbled Lightning as he came to stall in front of his crew chief, dust rolling up behind him from the dirt track. "All because Chick is a jerk. Come on, haven't I learned my lesson?"

"Since you are still complaining, I would say no," murmured Doc as he turned his attention to his side as Mater be-bopped over to the town judge and physician (though there was talk of actually being able to get a real judge in town or at least a nurse).

"Hello Mater, what seems to be the matter?" asked Doc in the soft tones he usually used before he gave McQueen a sideways look that said 'move it'. McQueen merely sighed and continued driving in his endless circle complaining about his rims.

"Oh nuttin. I jus' thought you wanted to know that Sheriff is back and he's raiding all your old doctor contacts and such," said Mater as he got low on his tires and watched Lightning drive in a circle, seemingly content as he smack his lips.

The old racer stared at the tow truck for a moment, before he asked, "And since I know I left my office locked this morning, I take it this is your way of telling me he broke into my office to snoop through my things?"

Eyes widening as if actually understanding the implications of Hudson's words, Mater sputtered, "Ah … yah. I guess he did. Said somethin' about if he went into your office while you were there, he'd end up with an exhaust check."

Lightning, who had parked next to Mater without any of the older vehicles noticing, suddenly burst out laughing, "Pa-ha! Sheriff will do anything to ignore the yeti-tires. Good old, Sheriff. I should congratulate him later."

Doc, for his part, looked un-amused that everyone now said he had _yeti-tires_ because that was what Mark demanded they felt like. His tires were not cold! They were perfectly normal!

Driving forward slowly, he asked Mater, "Was he still there when you left?"

"Last I checked he was. Why you askin'," said Mater as he turned in the direction Doc was slowly driving in.

"Oh, no reason. Lightning needs his suspension system checked because his rims are apparently aching something _terrible_," said Doc with a slightly sardonic grin.

"What!" said Lightning, jumping on all four of his tires like a scared animal. "But-But I … you can't be serious. I just want to get washed and hang out at Flo's. Is that so much to ask?"

"We can't have your tires falling off, rookie, but we better hurry up. Apparently, I have a patient waiting for me there already … and I would hate to miss him," said the old racer with a wicked chuckle.

Lightning, despite hating that cold ramp as much as the next car, actually laughed as he nudged against Mater, part of him believe that Doc wasn't actually going to give him a check-up.

"Hey Mater … let's take the back way so we can watch Sheriff run away like a scared rabbit from a crocodile," said the red racer in a jovial tone.

Mater, giving his close friend a confused expression, could only question, "But … Sheriff isn't a rabbit and I think Radiator Springs is far too dry for crocodiles, Lightning."

The racer gave the tow truck a look before he chuckled, "I don't know about that crocodile part, Mater. Did you see the grin on Doc's face?"

Looking even more confused as before, Mater's face squeezed together in confusion, "Whuh? What does Doc's grin have to do with crocodiles and rabbits?"

Driving around the confused truck, McQueen nudged his friend in the rear and chuckled, "Come on Mater, we don't have time for this. Let's get movin'. I want to see the chaos."

"If you done say so," said Mater, his tow cable swinging as he followed his newest _bestest_ friend to what could only lead to deviance.

…

"How could you go racing through the corridors like that! I don't care if you were hiding from the press or a crazed fan and needed a room change! Do you want to end your racing career?" barked doctor BB, Chick's current physician as he twiddled under the raised ramp in Chick's new room, his placid nature completely dead as he tugged and pulled underneath Chick making the racer whine in discomfort.

Marv, who had been allowed to remain in the room if only so BB could yell at him as well, was cringing for Chick as the doctor's rant continued. Only after BB drove away from underneath the ramp and slowly lowered it, did the little VW Bug seem to calm down, "You are lucky nothing was damaged, just a loose screw. You were not supposed to leave the room, Chick. As your physician you are supposed to _listen_ to me."

"I was careful not to place any weight on it," growled back Chick as he hung there. "And it … didn't hurt."

"Well, a radiator flush won't hurt either then," grumbled back the Bug, Marv and Chick sharing a horrified expression. When had the shy Bug become so … evil?

"Y-you can't do that. Doctors are supposed to have some kind of vow against torture!" barked Chick as he waved his free tires. "I-I could have you fired!"

BB, filling out Chick's medical file, gave Chick a bored look as he grumbled, "There are no doctors that are left in the hospital for you to fire, Mr. Hicks. So I say suck it up … You are overdue for one anyway. Now, I will be back later today to do that flush. Have a good afternoon and get some rest."

With that said, the vehicle left the aching racer and the emotionally beaten Marv. Though, personally, Marv felt they had bigger issues than an angry healer and was about to say so when he caught Chick's glare.

"You said you were going to get me a _nice_ physician after I fired the first one," growled Chick, obviously no fan of radiator flushes … not that anyone was.

"As I recall, your only requirement was that they weren't fans of Strip Weathers or Lightning McQueen at the time," Marv added as he drove over to his racer, his voice low. "But we have bigger issues Chick. We haven't even begun to discuss what Lance said. And what is this about fixing the races? I thought you were just trying to keep your hood clean and keep out of trouble, not purposely losing? If the fans knew you were fixing the game. Well … let's say the Racing Board would be a minor issue. A lot of illegal gambling occurs during the races."

Chick raised a brow at the other, wondering what kind of shifty people Marv hung out with when the pickup continued, "And what of McQueen? Honestly, the brat deserves the social derogation, but the backlash would be terrible. He did get in a few good hits, after all. So it would be believable."

Thinking of his team, though it was more his pride than McQueen's social status that he was worried about, Chick was about to softly agree with Marv when there was a knock at the door. Marv actually sighed, thinking that BB was already back for the continued torment, but when Marv opened the door Chick's faced twisted in horror. Weathers' was sitting there, looking at the new room number thoughtfully before he gave Marv a solemn smile.

"Ah … it seems I finally got the right room," said Strip thoughtfully as he slowly pushed past a flabbergast Marv.

Marv, watching the old driver pace into the room, choked, "B-but we changed rooms! We told security about a crazy blue fan and to throw anyone out without a visitor's pass … the forklifts were playing defense!"

Strip titled towards the crew chief, showing his visitor's badge, stating warmly, "I visited the children's ward and then said I would see if anyone else was in need of a visitor today."

Chick, who was reaching for his nurses' button, stalled and murmured, "You used children as a means to get to me?! I don't know if to be insulted or impressed Weathers, but either way: _get out_! I said my apology to you and I'm taking some time off if that isn't blatantly obvious by the fact that I'm on ramp, dangling by my tires!"

Strip's warm expression became somewhat cold as if he was thinking before he stalled Marv's movement to the door, likely to get a security guard, "And what then, Chick? Do you want me to tell the cops about _who_ that suicidal mad-car was from three days ago? Do you want me to tell the Racing Board that you're depressed, fixing the races, or that you are trying to slander Lightning McQueen? Really Chick, can you afford to make an enemy of me? At this point, you should be glad I'm not the bitter type."

Chick, for his part, cringed away from the other as if he had been hit, his engine oil feeling cold and thick as he tried to press away from the older car. He didn't know how Strip had gotten ahold of this information, but there was a serious information leak somewhere. Was Lance trying to get rid of him? It would be a perfect way, honestly. Maybe Lance wanted him to report Lightning if only to deny it so he would have a reason to break the contract early without fines. But, either way, Strip basically now had Chick's life in his tires. He could destroy him with one phone call or with one quick email to the wrong person.

Suddenly, he felt sick, his tank churning. It was like his father was before him, chiding him, telling him that there were nothing but consequences in his life and that he was a mistake.

"_Dad … where is mom? Work called and asked where she was," said Chick wearily, turning into the living room as he watched his father stare at the static on the television … working on another case of high grade fuel. It seemed he was starting early this evening. _

_Chick swallowed, concerned that the ageing car was already drunk and would yell at him as he asked softly, "Dad? I-I haven't seen her in two days. Did she go to her sister's again?"_

_The car took another gulp of his drink before he titled his front end just enough so he could see out of the corner of his eye, his eyes looking bloodshot as he growled, "No… she is gone."_

_Chick, despite his dread, hating how he was still legally too young to move away from home, whispered, "Gone? What do you mean by gone."_

_Manton, his father, turned his hood back to the screen, voice growling, "She done run off. Her son died … what point was there in staying?"_

_Despite himself, despite knowing he should never place any notice on himself in front of his father, Chick choked, "B-but what about me? I-I need her here, especially with Chase being … Chase…"_

_He swallowed hard, not wanting to think of his brother or the gravestone he refused to visit until he had a trophy he could offer it. His words a whisper, "But I'm her son also."_

_His father laughed, darkly, like a thing that snatched small cars in the horror movies. A thing that sounded half mad. _

"_You're one of her sons? Please, all you are Chick is a failure. An accident that has been the bane of our family and that's all you'll ever be. A waste of space … I can't even call you a son so why would your mother? Our real son is dead, gone and buried," said Manton Hicks as he kept his back to Chick, refusing to comfort his son when he needed it the most, days after Chases' funeral. "Now, get out of my house."_

Blinking back the memory, hating how Strip Weathers was just patiently waiting for his next words, his next course of action. He didn't even seem shocked that Chick had mental passed out though Marv looked troubled by the flashback.

Swallowing, Chick whispered, "What do you want? What do I have to do?"

He knew he was asking this question of Strip but if felt like he was begging his father again, begging to know why his father didn't love him and what he had to do for even a moment of emotional freedom.

"Chick!" barked Marv, driving forward, hating Strip for the first time in his life. "Don't let him manipulate you! He has no way to prove any of his claims. Honestly, old timer, don't you have anything better to do than antagonize Chick? He apologized and it wasn't as if you didn't have a few of those Piston Cups at home already!"

Strip frowned at the pickup, noting how the other was high on his tires, anger basically radiating off of the crew chief. And yet, Strip wasn't worried about being attacked. Marv was one of the calmer crew members of Hick's team even when he was enraged. So, he did not back down, he merely told the truth, "I'm not torturing Chick. I am trying to help him. If I hadn't confronted him, he would be back on that racetrack."

"Oh, like the interstate was much better," said Marv sarcastically. "Ken found him half dead. Do you have any idea how much oil he lost?"

"Which proves my point, doesn't it?" said Strip sourly. "I thought he just needed a break to get his thoughts together, but he was downright suicidal. He nearly got himself killed. He needs help before he kills himself or someone else."

"Chick isn't that depressed," barked Marv, though his words were driven more by rage than truth.

"The evidence begs to differ," said Strip, his expression growing more and more solemn.

"Stop talking like I'm not here. I was upset … not suicidal," interjected Chick sourly before this became a 'did' and 'did not' kind of conversation. "Why do you care anyway, Weathers? I know you never liked me. You only put up with me because my bad behavior made you look like a boy scout. So just tell me what your blackmail is and leave me in peace."

Strip's form became ridged and Chick knew immediately that he had hit a nerve when the retired racer's tone became low and biting, "Why do I care? Why wouldn't I care? Last time I ignored the signs and took _his word_ that he was 'okay', he ended up strewn across the racetrack. I don't want to see another Slick Hemmings, Chick."

Chick went stiff, his eyes narrowing as he spoke coolly, "I am nothing like him. His little girl died. I'm just having a hard time with my sponsor."

"And what about your brother? The one that died, Hicks?" said the blue racer, his eyes drawn in a pained expression. "Sometimes dark thoughts don't happen right away like with Hemmings, but sometimes if cars don't grieve properly and think they can bring their brother back with a trophy … there is something wrong."

Marv winced and Chick reeled back on his ramp, his eyes surprised that the racer had heard that part of Marv and his conversation. It took a moment of swallowing and struggling thoughts before Hicks admitted, "You took that out of context, Weathers. I-I never thought I could bring my brother back … and that was a deeply intimate conversation Strip. How _dare_ you try to use that against me."

Strip winced this time, dripping down slightly on his tires as he gave Chick a soft glance, "And I'm sorry about that Chick. It wasn't my place. I just happened to be in the right place at the right time. It was not my intention to invade your personal confessions, but it still doesn't change what I heard about your brother or with your sponsor."

"Are you going to rat us out," finally asked Marv, getting straight to the point.

"And what would that do?" said The King as he raised a metallic brow. "As I said before: I am not here for revenge. You have given me your apology already for my final race. I'm doing this because I feel like I didn't do the right things for Hemmings."

Strip frowned deeply, his eyes gaining a soft sorrow to them though his determination was unyielding. "I will not make that mistake again. I know I wasn't the only one that saw things back then, saw the signs like I see them now, but I will not do that again. Chick … I don't want to make you do the right thing, but at least I will give you a choice."

Chick's tires stiffened. He felt trapped like he did three days ago when Strip confronted him last time. Regardless, he merely stayed still and listened.

The King's next words were careful and yet demanding like he knew he had to be stern about the issue, "I know a very good _resort_ that deals with physiological issues like depression or addictions. And-"

"No, no, no! Chick will be ruined if the press even catches a whiff of that!" cried Marv.

"Ford no!" yelled Chick as well, his thoughts reflecting on his father and that car's … addictions. "I am not some car that needs to be locked in a padded room and drugged until I drool all over myself! I will not go! You cannot make me!"

Strip, for his part, was as tolerant as ever as the two green vehicles showed their completely distaste in the recommendation. But he never interrupted or demanded their silence until both of the vehicles went still, both looking flustered before Weathers continued, "As I was saying, a friend of mine went there and came back a better car for it. It is a _resort_, Chick. It's meant for celebrities so it practices discretion. That way you get the help you need emotionally. Remember, I said there is nothing wrong with acknowledging that you need rest, and it is considered a hospital so you can get rehabilitation for your injuries as well. As for what _Lance_ requested of you, I expect that should go without saying …"

Marv twitched on his tires, his eyes shifting to Chick who looked just as helpless as the other. How was it that this old racer could have so much sway over the two of them? It was just down right _sad_. He used to be Strips rival and now that the old coot was retired and acting like a father. If that was how fathers were supposed to act. Chick would sadly admit he really didn't know what a real father was supposed to be like. He always just presumed it was how Chase had acted, but then again that could just be how dotting siblings were … or people that loved you for that matter. In fact, a part of him might have been touched that Strip was going through so much trouble, for him, but at the same time … it was Strip –The King- Weathers fault!

If the Dinoco racer could have swerved like he usually did … he wouldn't have to feel this way. He wouldn't have to feel depressed and two shakes from going mad as memories of his brother and his past haunted him. M-maybe he should just give into Strip's demands. It would be easy. It would be so easy.

Sighing, feeling old, hating his very frame, Chick whispered, "Please Strip … don't make me go. Just let me be."

Eyes going wide, Strip seemed surprised for a moment that such a plea could escape his old rival, but as much as he wanted to give into Chick's appeal … a part of him refused to: the part that recalled Hemmings' glazed eyes before he died. Those memories would not allow him to free Chick. Chick was many things but he didn't deserve to be scrapped off of a wall. And so Strip slowly shook his hood, looking as tired as Chick did, "I'm sorry, Hicks. You either confront this or the Racing Board. Personally, there are much better sponsors than that Viper anyway."

Closing his eyes, feeling as if he had just lost a grueling long war, Chick's voice was soft as he murmured, "Tell Marv about it … I need to be alone right now to make decisions."

'_Though I feel as if I have no choice,'_ thought the vehicle bitterly.

Offering a soft smile, almost a pitying one, the older racer murmured, "You'll see Chick. This is for the best."

Chick said nothing as Marv and Strip left the room so the boxcar could be left to his thoughts. Hicks personally prayed that BB sucked at his job and would accidently kill him before he was released, because he knew that if he was admitted and the Racing Board found out … He may never race again and that was the only thing left to him, the only promise he could not break. He had to be the best because there was no way to apologize if he failed because the dead cannot hear.

They can only haunt you.

…

Sheriff frowned as he paged through Doc's contacts. It turned out that getting court orders for medical records was harder than it sounded … especially since a lot of the racing models that happened to be in the surround hospitals had great lawyers. Mark growled at the thought … Sally was one thing, but most lawyers were upstart jerks.

Regardless, to speed up the search before the convict was released (Chief hadn't gotten any reports from the morgues that matched the racer's description so the perp had to be alive), Mark had started calling up some friends of Doc's …using his old friend's name to get somewhere.

It seemed that Doc was well known for a small town Doctor. Then again, he had to be knowledgeable in all fields given that he did not have any assistance. Sheriff could relate. He had to take some classes a few years back for crime scene investigation and boy was that an eye opener.

"Ah, here we go. That Mad-Car is as good as in the impound lot," murmured the officer as he got ahold of a name that looked like it was on the director's board to a Hospital not far from where they found the oil. Lakewood Hospital … sounded classy.

"The impound lot, huh? What for? Breaking and entering?" said a voice behind him, Sherriff half way through dialing the number.

"No, for reckless driving amongst …." Sheriff's eyes went wide and like a whip he was turned around, doing his best to hide the contacts list behind his back tires. "Oh hey, Doc … Eh, I … it's an awful nice morning, isn't it?"

"Sure is a nice day. In fact," said Doc as he drove in further, the door closing behind him as he successfully trapped the other in his private office, "My day has been going well, actually. McQueen's wheels are apparently about to fall off, so he's learning his lesson, and my morning appointment let himself in to wait for my return."

"Your morning appointment, huh?" said Sheriff with a struggling grin, knowing all too well that Doc was referring to him. "Well … I ought to be going then. Don't want to disturb you in your work."

Doc, almost giving the other a bored look, used his front tire to open the adjoining room that led to the sterile white lift room, his tone sullen, "Sherriff … get on the lift. And give me whatever you were rifling through. You know the privacy laws as well as I do."

Sighing, sinking low on his tires like a child that had just been disciplined, he murmured, "All right, you caught me. I was just trying to get some information for Chief. We think the Mad-Racer is in a nearby hospital in the tri-state area. He's probably claiming it was a racin' accident and we wanted to catch him red handed."

Sitting there for a moment, eyes half masted, the town doctor nodded before he titled his hood towards the sterile white room, "Doesn't change the fact that you are still getting a checkup this morning."

Giving a slightly irritated look, Sherriff drove slowly towards the lift, murmuring, "I'm still contacting this guy at Lakewood."

"Gregory would probably love a call," murmured Doc without a second thought as he followed after their town sheriff, giving the police cruiser the stink eye before Mark reluctantly got on the lift. Then, heading to the lift controls, the engine whined to life as it raised the officer for the check-up Doc had been badgering him about for a few weeks now.

Lightning, who had gained an entourage of some of the locals (Mater, Ramone, Red), chuckled in the doorway, the lift room door having been open the whole time. "Whoa Doc … what did you do with the _real_ Sheriff? This one didn't even give his usual excuses and try his mandatory escape attempt before giving in."

"Yeah man, you threaten to give him a radiator flush or something?" chuckled Ramone, his usual grin mockingly staring at the sheriff as Mark glared down at all of them.

If looks could kill.

Mater, looking at Sheriff with a horrified expression, choked, "Yah mean Doc cloned the Sheriff or is it one of dem body snatchers?"

Then, not even waiting for a reply as everyone looked at Mater with a confused expression, Mater slammed into reverse, nearly taking out the fire-truck as he cried, "It's the invasion of the body snatchers! They's gone and snatched up Sheriff! They got Sheriff!"

Red, still as quiet as ever despite the town's slowly increasing population, gained a horrified expression as he looked up at Sheriff. Then, not even a second later he was reversing, blubbering as he headed to his usual spot to have his breakdown, tires bouncing in the background.

Doc, giving McQueen a quick glare, then gave a tired sigh over to Ramone.

"Yeah, yeah. I'll go check on Red," said the low rider as he replied to the Hudson's silent request, bouncing away.

McQueen, alone, was now the subject of twin glares; one from the ill-amused Sheriff and the other from the irritated town judge. Talk about being on the wrong side of the law.

Giving his usual nervous grin, Lightning started to back up, "Well … Guess I'll be going then. I have to find Mater and remind him what sarcasm is again."

Doc, his voice picking up the slight authoritarian tone it did when mad, grumbled, "You are not going anywhere, hot rod. Sit your rear down at Flo's and I'll come and get cha' for your checkup after I'm done with the sheriff here."

Mark, despite himself, chuckled slightly at McQueen's horrified expression, especially when the younger car choked, "But I don't want a check-up."

"Neither did Sheriff. Now suck it up rookie," said Doc as he shut the door in the shocked racer's face, giving Sheriff a glare when he noticed that the other was looking at the lift control as if contemplating an escape.

"Don't even think about it," Doc mumbled as he headed over towards his tools. "You've been putting this off long enough."

Sheriff, groaning, merely sunk on his tires, relenting to the other in silent discontentment.

XXX

Paw07: See … I told you I would be back soon and boy was this chapter a doozy. Things are not going at all in Chick's direction, but we got some Sheriff time! Really, I love his character and he total needs more love here on FF. Anyway, I need to find someone to go to Planes with me. XD


	11. A Betting Car

Chapter 11: A Betting Car

"Blue blazes! Watch the muffler Doc, you almost done ripped it off," barked Sheriff from atop his perch, Doc pulling away from under the ramp to give him a bored look.

"Well, if you had come in sooner, I wouldn't have to be tugging at things to get the gunk out," said the healer as he dropped a rather greasy tool onto a tray to be cleaned later. "Also, it's time to change your filters. Let's start with your oil filter since I don't know when I will get ahold of you again."

Sheriff cringed at the sight of the dirtied tool. He hadn't gotten gunk build up that badly in years. His engine had always been good to him but recently … he knew he was having trouble keeping up and now there was a real worry of actually blowing a gasket. He could get ahold of the Road Hazards whenever they came through, but they weren't exactly the most graceful speeders. If someone like the Mad Racer came into town … He didn't want to think about it.

Chief said his rookies did most of the chasing nowadays, but then again Roy was younger than him … and the whole group of rookie officers seemed childish and more trouble than they were worth. He just knew that if he got a rookie officer … Soon, he wouldn't be of much use. He would be expendable. Something meant to rust away until his carbonator gave in or his gas tank rusted out.

He was so frightened … that no one would need him anymore. He needed to be _needed_ … what was his purpose otherwise? He had no family in the area. All he had was the title Sheriff and this town, a seemingly unimportant dot on the map even though it was his most treasured thing.

"Mark?" said Doc, coming forward with container to catch the old oil. "Is something wrong?"

Blinking back the tears that were threatening to gather on his windshield, the Sheriff shook his hood, sinking low on his tires in depression.

"I'm not crying if that's what your think," the enforcer grumbled, hating how soft his emotions were. His mother had been a kind car and had taught him soft sentiments, and though she told him that having a heart was never a sign of weakness, it always felt like one.

Doc sighed as he placed the oil catch and quickly unscrewed the oil plug, the ramp whining to life as the police cruiser was lowered down almost to the ground, Doc giving his friend a soft look now that they were eye to eye. Offering as sad smile, Hudson stated simply, "We have at least a few minutes to chat, Mark. You are not going anywhere until after that oil is done draining and the filter changed."

Sighing, Mark squirmed on his tires somewhat before he got low on said tires, curb checker's twitching.

"It's foolishness," said Mark softly, looking at the floor.

"Foolishness?" said Doc, his tone almost quip. "Oh I don't know Sheriff; if it wasn't important you wouldn't be bothered by it. Now, tell your old friend what's been bothering you."

Mark sunk lower on his fires, sighing deeply before he swallowed, "I don't want to burden you with my problems."

"Your problems?" Doc raised a metallic brow, "Now Mark, everyone in this town knows that if something is broken … I generally end up fixing it. That is why I am both the town doctor and judge, isn't it? And you also know that since this is in my medical office, anything you tell me will never go beyond these walls."

Closing his eyes, feeling like he was going to choke on his own words, Mark whispered softly, "I don't want to be replaced, Doc. This town is all I got."

Doc actually looked taken aback, his eyes widening as he drove forward, looking pained, "_Replace you_? Mark, why would we replace you? A little bit of gunk build up and backfires are to be expected for a car your age. You are not Lightning's age anymore."

Pulling his tires in tight, feeling the tears threatening the corners of his eyes again, Sheriff's tone came out choked, "Then why have you been looking for rookies? I've gotten a few inquiries this summer already from hot rods straight out of the academy."

Driving back slightly, Doc solemnly nodded, "Yes, I did make that request, Mark, but it wasn't to discourage your service. I would never do that. I am not trying to have you replaced."

"Then why do I need a rookie?" said the cruiser, bitterness in his voice.

"Because … I would rather be banging out an academy kid's dents from a high speed pursuit then signing your death certificate, Sheriff," added Doc in his own rancorous tone. "Forgive me if I was just looking out for you."

"So … you think I should just retire then? I'm getting too old for the chase. Maybe I should just move to the side for a newer model?" he barked back, sorrow quickly turning into a long festering rage. If he wasn't on a ramp he might punch his old friend. Doc had it coming, stepping over him as town judge and just requesting officers behind his back. Doc might be able to win in a race, but Sheriff knew he would win in a fist fight.

"NO!" barked back Doc, his teeth bared but then just as quickly his rage faded, his usual calm present. "Please, don't be this way. I just … thought I was doing what was best for you, for the town."

Deflating somewhat, Doc's calm and gruff voice always effective at calming a scene, Mark gave in somewhat. It was a healer's art, Mark supposed, the ability to bring calmness.

Regardless, he wasn't about to back down, his words flat and yet demanding, "Then let me prove myself. That I can still take care of this town by myself … at least until I'm ready for a rookie."

Shifting his tires, looking up at the artificial light on for a moment, Doc slowly nodded, "So … a test it is then, a bet even? If you win, I leave things as they are, if I win you choose a rookie."

"I'm not much of a betting car, Doc," said Sheriff slowly, calmly. "But I took a chance on Lightning and that turned out well enough."

"It's agreed then. Let's shake on it, "said Doc, nodding his hood sternly. "I will give you until the end of the sprint racing season to show me wrong and I won't bring up the rookie conversation for a good long while if you succeed, deal?"

Despite knowing how dangerous it was to bet on anything with Doc, Sheriff slowly nodded. He did not miss the victorious grin on Doc's face at all as the other lifted up a tire. Staring at the offered tire for a moment in slight paranoia, Sheriff reached out his tire as well and shook on it, murmuring, "Deal, even though you are a terrible cheat. So it can't be something unreasonable. It has to be something any officer worth his salt should be able to do."

"Fair enough … and what do you mean by cheat? You fell in the lake that one time and you still haven't gotten over that?" said Doc with a growing grin as the shake continued for a good long while.

"Fell? As I recall, you pushed me," groused Sheriff, recalling the dreadful day. "Now, what is something that would be considered bet worthy?"

…

"I made a bet with Doc that I would find the Mad-Racer before the end of the sprint racing season," said Sheriff blatantly to his old colleague. "I think he even wrote up a legal document."

A spitting sound filled the area, several patrons and semis turning to the small collection of officers at the truck stop, Chief's gulp became a spray of oil.

"You did what!" choked Chief, dropping his can of oil as the two of them sat there, enjoying a cool drink. The truck stop had always been a nearby meeting place for the two as the years went by. After all, the truck stop always did have very pretty waitress.

Gina, a cute little foreign 2002 Fiat Stilo, drove over with her usual smile to the small group of officers, throwing Jimmy Jones a nasty glare before she picked up the spilled can and placed it on a side tray. Her accented voice was as sweet as usual despite her obvious dislike for one of their members, "Is there any-thin else I can get phor you officers? Mister Roy?"

"Yes, Gina, that would be … _best_. Another can, the strong stuff," said Chief with a grimace while Sheriff just continued to sit there, brow raised, the slightly older officer noticing the glare Gina threw at Jimmy.

Not wanting to upset their long time waitress, Sheriff nodded his head towards Jimmy and the new waitress, Aida (a 2006 Fiat Panda), as he spoke, "Yes, I did. I know it was stupid, but I'm sure I will succeed with your help … and if you want to keep your rookie alive you better make sure he stops hitting on Aida. You know how Gina gets about her little cousin. I heard she gave a semi a cracked windshield once."

"Don't you remember what happened the first time you made a bet with Doc and how he mowed you into the earth? …Tried to drown you if I recall correctly... It's just his competitive nature to win, especially given his racing origins. That bet sounds like a fool hearty idea," growled out Chief before he bumped his rookie on the side, the young car giving him a love sick look as Aida drove off to get the Charger's drink. "Stop that boy, Aida is off limits. Everyone knows that. She came to live her with her cousin so she could go to school."

"But she's so adorable … and that Italian accent," murmured the young officer, his pout thrown to the two older officers before he turned over his engine, "Anyway, I'm going to go ask her what time she gets off. I mean … got to the restroom."

The 2006 Charger was then gone before either of the older officers could stop him or properly question him, Sheriff shaking his hood, "Well, that kid's dead, better start looking for a new rookie. Why did you even bring him?"

"He gets into things he shouldn't when he's bored, like a child," grumbled Chief, "And you are the one that should start looking for a rookie. You know as well as I that it could take years to solve that case if we don't get any leads yet you made a bet that you would find him before the end of the racing season? That season is nearly half over and September will be upon us before you can even turn your engine over, Mark. You just dug yourself a deep hole."

"Doc isn't as clever as he likes to think he is," smirked Mark with a chuckle.

"Is that so?" said Roy, his tone mocking. "Tell me how you are going to save your bumper, Mark? I haven't even heard a 'please help me good old buddy, old pal' yet and half of my court requests are still pending for medical records. It's not a done deal yet."

"Well," said Mark with a grin, feeling young and invigorated for outsmarting Doc. "I got ahold of Doc's master list of contacts as a physician when he wasn't looking … and Lightning McQueen's contacts. Well, it was more like I got Mac's sympathetic audio, but same thing. Mac also said he would keep an audio out for rumors."

Tutting the other like he was a child, Chief shook his hood, "You think that will save you? You thought your boosted engine would save you when Doc challenged you to a dirt race when he first came to Radiator Springs. It took two tow trucks three hours to get you out of that lake, the town made a barbeque event of it. You were lucky you didn't sustain water damage."

Mark huffed, remembering the humiliation of the incident. "Well, I didn't know he was a race car at the time. He tricked me. It was a trick I will not let him do again."

"And yet he's always outwitting you it seems," said Chief, a deep part of him in love with Radiator Springs' antics. Personally, he had to visit more often if only to get more dirt on Mark. Apparently, Doc and him had been having a friendly rivalry every since that first race when Doc moved into Radiator Springs. At this point, Roy was sure Sheriff just gave Doc a hard time about medical checks as a form of rivalry.

"Hardly, he hasn't outwitted me in ages," said Mark, his chassis puffing out somewhat.

"Oh," said Roy with a coy grin. "What about the surprise medical exam I heard you got a few days ago? I certainly doubt you went to him willingly."

Sheriff deflated, embarrassment in his eyes before he stumbled over his words, "B-but I … how … ugh … How did you find out about that?!"

"Let's just say a certain tow truck told me since he was in my county," chuckled Chief, loving that seemingly dull witted tow truck. Some thought him slow, but there was a level of skill and adventure that a daredevil could never compare to. Then again, if that story of the daredevil was true, Mater had already done that… and a dozen other things. It was a well known fact that Mater did have some of the best tall tales in the area.

"I'll impound him for this," groused the enforcer.

Chief snorted, "I doubt that. Who's going to drag your speeders to the impound lot then? Regardless, you have better thing to do … like finding my rookie. He's been gone too long … he must be up to something."

"He's fine. He's an adult … barely. _We_ have to focus on reviewing our current case, the Mad-Racer," stated Mark. "Besides, what kind of trouble could Jim find he-"

The two veterans were suddenly interrupted when a blur of black and white rushed past them, throwing up a thin film of dust before said blur reversed harshly and nearly crashed into Mark. Not that Jones noticed, he was too focused on his superior.

"Chief!" cried Jimmy, his eyes wide and almost scared looking. "Are you ready to go! In fact, I say let's get going _now_."

"Now?" groused the older vehicle. "But I haven't even gotten my new oil yet. Gina hasn't even gotten-"

"_Gina_! Where, I … uh, on second thought. I'll find a good place to park, Chief. I'll catch some kissers. I mean speeders. Later!" cried Jimmy and before his superior could even questioned the rookie, that powerful engine was roaring as the youth spun his tires and dodged out into the traffic, an group of mini-vans cursing his bumper.

The two aging cars both gave each other a questioning look at they leaned forward and watched the youth speed away like he was already in a chase down the interstate, leaving nothing but a trail of dust.

Only when the youth was completely out of sight did normal return to the truck stop, Chief and Sheriff falling back against their rear struts. Sheriff, his face confused, asked the other, "Now what was that all about?"

Humming to himself, Chief barely noticed a red faced and flustered Gina drop off his drink until she was gone, the drink to his lips. Then, nearly spitting out his drink again, Chief started chuckling.

"Oh, I have a good idea," purred Chief as he looked at the interstate with mild interest. "Say … did Jones' bumper look dented to you? Someone must of hit into him pretty hard."

Sheriff, who had gone back to his own drink, looked surprised for a moment before he was suddenly smiling wickedly as he shook his hood, "I didn't see anything if you didn't. I personally like being on her good side. Gina can be mean for a little foreign thing."

Roy was quick to agreed, "I learned my lesson the first time I made her mad, but I still think we should start looking at candidates for you now instead of later."

Sinking low on his tires, Sheriff moaned in indignation, "Ford-Almighty, do you and Doc share notes when I am not looking or something because you two sound exactly the same."

Chief only shook his hood, laughing, thinking what fun it would be to see Sheriff interact with his rookies for the next few weeks as they tried to solve the case, because Mark was going to need the experience. Soon, he would have one academy graduate of his very own to bug him about regulations, high speed chases, shoot outs, paperwork and how boring the job really could be. It would be like a horrible growth one just couldn't get rid of. He was going to enjoy this.

XXX

Paw07: Yeah, a Sheriff chapter! And honestly, I don't know if Cars need oil changes since they apparently have bathrooms, but eh … it's a part of car maintenance that I know fairly well so I went with it. Either way though, I'm sure they have to have their filters changed. XD


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